


I am your one

by Cirquecirc



Category: Julian Casablancas + The Voidz, Julian Casablancas - Fandom, The Strokes
Genre: F/M, Fashion & Couture, Love, Music, Oral Sex, Romance, Royalty, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirquecirc/pseuds/Cirquecirc
Summary: Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.I'll meet you there.When the soul lies down in that grassthe world is too full to talk about.- Rumi





	1. You don't know what love is

* * *

She inhaled her cigarette, letting the smoke fill her mind with calm. Looking up at the partially cloudy sky, she closed her eyes as the warmth of the midday L.A. sun illuminated the golden skin of her face—reflecting off of her prominent cheekbones and her large dark brown almond-shaped eyes. It was reasonable to call her pretty, some would even say beautiful, with her petite, slim frame, narrow waist, small breasts, and a slight curve to her hips, courtesy of those Indian genes.

As she slowly exhaled her drag, her head snapped suddenly toward the glass door of the building , her eyes now wide open as she registered the sound of the push-lock clicking open. A figure emerged that looked stunningly like her, except taller, with more elongated features, and whose thick, glossy hair was more chestnut toned than her severe black tresses that she had allowed to grow long and were currently parted in the middle hanging loosely around her in their full naturally wavy glory.

Karma, her younger, more statuesque cousin was a vision. Many people had recently been telling her she should consider modeling, but she was holding out for some reason. Nessa made a mental note to get the bottom of that later as she watched her cousin take a careful step over the threshold. Karma's eyes were wide and her brow was furrowed, her face creased with worry.

"Hey."

"Hey Karm, what's up?" she asked calmly, her voice slightly lower than normal due to the cigarette. She kept her expression neutral, not wanting to spook her obviously distressed cousin further.

Karma bit her lip, a nervous habit she'd had since they were children, usually reserved for especially bad situations. She was apprehensive, on edge, as she looked at Nessa directly, seemingly attempting to decide how best to proceed. She took a deep breath, then stated evenly, "It's Julian."

Nessa took another drag of her cigarette.

"What about him?" Her tone indicated mild annoyance with this particular subject.

Karma rushed her next words, fully aware this was not something her beloved cousin was fond of discussing, "He released a video." She took another quick breath, preparing to provide more information.

She tried again. "He released a video with Daft Punk."

At that, the annoyed, mildly unimpressed expression that had graced Nessa's features vanished, replaced by one of utter shock. Karma continued, her voice more confident now, having taken in her cousin's wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, "I really think you should see it, Ness."

An unknown force suddenly seized Nessa and she forcefully threw the butt of her cigarette to the pavement, quickly extinguishing its glow with the rubber sole of her black leather vans and following Karma inside the building. The cool A/C hit her already overheated skin as they walked in almost funerary silence to a small wooden table in the middle of the lounge upon which Karma's matte silver macbook was perched, already open to the youtube page of what appeared to be the music video for Julian's latest single. Karma's headphones were still plugged in—an expensive set of DJ-grade ones Nessa had helped her pick out from the same company that made her own. She grasped the cool titanium in her shaky hands and put them over her head, the familiarity of the soft ear-pads a welcome comfort as her insides started to unravel with nerves.

Karma walked off into a corner, searching for something, which Nessa recognized as the speaker cable. When she returned a few moments later, she plugged this into the laptop so she could listen simultaneously. She spared a nervous glance at Nessa, whose anxious expression mirrored her own, before leaning over to the keyboard and decisively pressing play on the video. 

A melancholy beat wound its way through the headphones. Nessa silently cursed recommending this specific model to her cousin—the audio quality was good, too good. It sounded like the music was in your own head, in your own heart even, not some external vibration, but a present undeniable almost cosmic force, rattling rhythms through your bones.

Suddenly, she discerned a voice—unmistakably Julian's , even through the subtle autotune Thomas and Guy Manuel filtered it through. Her pulse began to race as the tone and lyrics surrounded her, caressing her senses and giving her goosebumps, that, if she was honest, were not entirely unwelcome.

She felt the familiar ache stir deep within her that she had not permitted herself to acknowledge in some time. She thought she had vanquished it, but it vibrated so intensely inside her, she became convinced it was never really defeated, just dormant, waiting for the right circumstances, for a moment just like this one, to wake from its slumber and saturate her body. The longing only grew as she listened to his words.

A tightness ignited her core as the sharp, cutting waves of need pulsated through her, their energies colliding together, winding the coil of desire steadily building in the heat between her legs. She shifted subtly, aware of her mounting arousal as she listened to each lyric. It had been so long, too long, and he was calling out to her, beckoning her to him. Her now hyper-sensitive body answered for her, as she found herself shaking from the pleasure of the soft graze of her shirt's silky black fabric as it billowed in the soft breeze created by the A/C and moved gently across her skin, adding to the goosebumps already there and sending currents of molten fire burning through her, eventually settling deep and heavy in her core. She felt herself drenching her black silk panties with the violent desperation of her body's need for him. She couldn't hold it back any longer.

She brought her attention back to the video  in an attempt to clear her mind and her body of these feelings. The visuals on the screen did little to quell the maelstrom between her thighs. He looked so good, and, as the video cut to his lean form splayed out on the circular platform, knees bent, body lax, the sensations heightened further. Her mind jumped to that time they were at the house in Italy, on the bed where she had lost her virginity, not to Julian, but that was about to become inconsequential, because perched on his lap, feeling the force of his entire length inside her, bodies glistening as they moved together rhythmically in time, muscles drawn tight and thighs straining with the effort of riding him, feeling the deep pressure build as he matched her desperate movements, thrust for thrust, needing her tight wetness just as desperately as she needed his smooth hardness, complimenting and completing each other, in that very same bed, just moments or perhaps it was eons—time was stretched and bent, contorting and collapsing around them—she was about to experience the deepest, most intense mind, body and soul-melting orgasm she had ever had.

Jules' eyes had met hers and she watched the honey-brown irises pan slowly down her bare body, coming to rest for a moment between her legs, where the length of his incredibly hard cock slid slowly deep within her, only to be revealed again, almost totally unsheathed and gleaming with a coat of the slickness from her incredibly tight walls. She had glanced down quickly, the sight too stimulating to watch in her keyed-up state. Jules parted his full, swollen lips and exhaled a breathy, 'Fuck,' as realization dawned on him—he was fucking her, well allowing his slightly bruised, previously spent cock to be used by her for her pleasure, and his own. She was taking him so well, her tight little body tensing, on edge, just waiting to be pushed over it, off the precipice of her own desire.

His lips parted again to release a low, urgent moan as he returned his gaze to her stunning face. He extended his arms towards her chest and she made a guttural noise of approval. He sat up just as his fingers started to knead her small breasts. She felt her clit make contact with his abdomen, the slow drag of the most sensitive part of her on the skin directly above the part of him currently delivering such deep pleasure inside of her caught her off guard and she inhaled sharply, grabbing his shoulders in a vice-grip, overwhelmed and unsure if she could handle all the sensations he was producing in her.

She made eye contact, momentarily grounding herself in the intense gaze of his half-lidded irises, telling her that he understood, he felt it too. This was it. She was it for him and he for her. She could trust him, let go and give herself over completely. The confidence from this realization surged through her and he seemed to recognize it as she quickened the pace, her thighs now burning as she noticed a mischievous glint in her lover's eyes. She almost immediately let out a loud, labored moan as Julian's nimble fingers clasped her slightly sore nipples, nearly blacking out completely as he lowered his head down into the tiny space between their sweat-slicked bodies to engulf one of the buds in the wet heat of his mouth, lightly grazing the soft skin with his teeth while maintaining the pressure of his thumb and forefinger on her other nipple.

Scalding heat raged through her, the pleasure radiating rapidly from her chest straight to her clit, adding to the heavy weight of the pleasure already seated deliciously in her core.

"Fuck Jules!" she near-yelled in completely disbelief as she felt his thrusts speed up at the same time as she felt the silken glide of his tongue over her nipple. He let out a quick laugh before continuing to alternate between his teeth and tongue until he moved his head slightly away, providing her with momentary relief from the sweet agony he was inflicting on her body.

"Shit!" she whisper-screamed as her short-lived respite was abruptly ended by the sharp breeze emanating from his pursed full lips as he blew air onto the nipple he had just taken taken into his mouth, glancing up at her under his eyelashes and nearly breaking the pounding pace of his cock when he saw how completely gone she was. Her eyes were wide, breathing heavy, the skin of her lower lip broken from how hard she was biting down on it. She looked into his eyes as his lips paused their blowing and came together in a lust-filled smirk. She watched his head shift slightly. She knew where this was going and opened her mouth to exhale the words quickly, "Jules, fuck, I...I don't think I ca—"

'Shhh...love, let me take care of you,' he whispered. She looked so lost drifting seemingly endlessly on a vast ocean of sensation and feeling. She nodded almost imperceptibly for him to continue and he surged up and kissed her deeply, tongue caressing and soothing her bruised lips.

He moaned as she started to rock herself down on him more slowly, but even more deeply, taking his entire length into her body, her eyes fluttering closed as his hot mouth returned to her chest, resuming his prior ministrations, this time focusing the efforts of his mouth on her other nipple, while continuing to stimulate the other rock-hard bud with his slightly calloused digits, the hint of roughness giving the sensation just the right tinge of pain causing the hiss that quickly turned into a low moan he heard coming from the sweet mouth of the woman—just barely at her tender 19—he had fallen so hard and so fast for, like he ever even had a choice.

He was a goner from day one and even if he did have a choice, he would choose her, every time, in every universe. She could bear it no longer and removed her hands from his shoulders, bringing them down to gently caress his hair, which by now was plastered to his face from the sweat of their combined vigor. He got the hint, he always did, and moved up to kiss her passionately, slipping his tongue into her waiting mouth, tasting and claiming her, something he would take every opportunity to do as often as he could over the course of their 11 months together. His body craved hers and one look from those large expressive, dark eyes could undo him, his body reacting violently to her presence—desire shooting through his veins as a heady mixture of need and love consumed him.

He could hear her staccato breathing and low murmurs of pleasure more clearly now. She was taking him so deep, he could feel her already insanely tight walls constricting even more, lending the same satisfying tinge of pain to his already throbbing, sensitive cock as the rough pads of his fingers had given Nessa moments—or was it eons?—earlier. He smiled, she was close. How they both had even lasted this long he couldn't be sure, other than the fact that this would be his second and her third orgasm of the evening. They were always helplessly insatiable in each other's presence and even more so this particular weekend coming off a week of busy schedules keeping them on different continents coupled with having the house to themselves.

His head came to rest on her slender shoulder as she tugged him closer so their bodies were flush, providing her clit with the maximum amount of friction and direct contact his body could facilitate in this intimate position. He wanted to spend the rest of eternity making her emit the sounds currently spilling through those plush, perfect lips. He knew just what to do to send her spiraling into the free fall of pleasure he had worked so hard to build her up to. He leaned closer so his lips were positioned next to her ear. The rapid exhale of his breath tickled her cheek on a particularly hard downstroke as she twisted in his lap. The sweet pressure of her clenching muscles surrounded him once more, crying out for release. She continued sliding hard, absolutely pounding herself down on him, showing no mercy to either of them.

Just as he began to recover enough from the shift to this brutal pace enough to resume his plan, she cried out. Her voice cracked as she gave her all, gave him everything she had left in her to do with what he pleased, trusting him to lead her to the limit and further, to deliver her body the relief of release it strained for. Oh yes, she would definitely be feeling this tomorrow, hell, she would probably be feeling this the day after too. Everything—pain, pleasure, love, joy, Julian's breath, his hands firmly planted her feverishly gyrating hips, his hair gently prickling the tender skin of her cheek, the security of his firm thighs beneath her supporting her fervent movements, all of it coalesced into a singular intense cresting wave rolling within and through her.

"Jules, p...p...please."

"Please what?" he tried in the steadiest voice he could muster under the present circumstances where his breath was being ruthlessly fucked out of him by the insanely beautiful and agile woman he was pretty much convinced was the love of his life.

She took a couple more punishing thrusts from his thick cock before she could formulate a response. Just as he was about to open his mouth again, thinking she was too far gone to respond, her voice crackled hoarsely, "Julian."

It drove him crazy when she used his full name. She knew this and was using it to spur him on to finish it.

"Yes momma." He paused as she moaned in response to hearing her favorite term of endearment he reserved just for he. He was throwing her own tactic back at her because it drove her equally crazy.

"Let me," she managed to croak out, eyes closed and having pushed her body beyond physical limits she didn't even know she could even reach in the first place.

Jules inhaled and ran his tongue over his swollen lips. When he next spoke, his voice was a full octave lower, a panty-scorching  deep growl full of confidence, possessiveness, and authority.

'You like that, don't you momma?'

Her entire world narrowed, now hanging onto every syllable.

"You like riding me, fucking me hard with that tight pretty pussy. Bet you can barely stand it, huh honey? Tell me, how does it feel? How does my cock make you feel, momma? Answer me."

Fuck! She was so close. The wave was about to break, hard.

"So full," her quaking vocal chords managed.

She caught her breath and tried again, gasping, "Feel so full of you, Jules."

He was having an extremely hard time not coming as the full force of her words hit him.

"I know baby girl, you're taking me so well. I can't wait to taste you after. Would you like that baby? If I got my tongue in you after? Cleaned you out?"

"Fuck, yes, so close Jules!'

"I bet you are baby, you got so wet for me, didn't you? It feels incredible, knowing my cock makes you that wet."

She slowed her pace just sitting on his lap grinding deeply on his cock now as she felt the rolling waves began to crash against her. He grabbed her ass, pushing himself inside her lithe body as deeply as it would allow and grinding into the heat, now quivering and tightening around him even more than he thought was possible.

"That's it baby, let me have it. Show me how much you love feeling my cock."

"Jules!" she screamed.

"Fuck baby, that's it, come for me."

Everything went slack as her walls contracted so harshly that Jules' cock was forced out of her. She was free falling hard, her vision whited out and her hot core vibrated as the springs rapidly uncoiled, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her. She was vaguely aware of her lover's voice in the background, whispering something along the lines of, "Fuck. So stunning. I could watch you come for days," followed by a drawn-out moan and a feeling of wetness as his orgasm ripped through him, shattering his insides and draining his cock as wave after wave of his hot come splashed against their stomaches, pooling on their thighs.

Her body throbbed, shocking her with small jolts of pleasure as she regained her vision and awareness to find herself slumped against a still-shocked Jules, both now attempting to recover from the intensity of what they had just done. His gaze snapped to hers as he sensed the movement of her body. She laid back on the bed, legs loosely resting around his waist.

He wore a smirk on his bruised lips as she gave him a questioning glare, which turned into one of shock as he sank down between her legs and began licking her folds while making the most obscene sounds of contentment she had ever heard. His velvety tongue breached her entrance, vigorously gliding against her overly sensitive walls, cleaning her out. His head popped back up briefly. His lustful eyes met hers as he spoke, "Your cunt is fucking delicious."

He resumed his thorough eating out of her spent interior, slurping loudly and humming as two fingers joined his tongue inside of her and began to pump.

"Shit, Jules."

He looked up at her again as she whined at the hyper-stimulation coupled with the sudden absence of his tongue.

"I think we can get another one out of you." His smile was full of mischief while his eyes shone with a dark yearning, a desire to give her everything, everything she didn't even know she wanted or could feel. He wanted to claim her body by taking her past every conceivable limit she thought she had and in that moment, limbs heavy, body sticky, breath labored, and eyes half-lidded, she nodded her head slightly, almost automatically, signaling that she too wanted him to take her, to carry her spent tiny golden form further than anyone else, further than Sam, and further than all the mild flirtations before him had even conceived to go.

He surged towards her. She observed his fluid movement, as if in slow motion, so heightened were her senses, until she felt his hot, slick lips collide with hers, immediately granting his tongue entry to share the tangy flavor of their combined taste. She moaned as his tongue moved surprisingly gently against her own, her brain still struggling to reconcile all of the sensations into a coherent picture. She took them as they came, one by one, as he delivered them to her.

He softly broke the kiss and his head disappeared again. A halo of light from the bedside lamp illuminated the chestnut locks, made darker by sweat, as she felt his fingers moving against her still slick walls. His tongue moved deftly against her clit, no longer teasing but coaxing, persuading by virtue of its up-frontness, telling her body exactly what he wanted from it. The nerves started to burn again, singing with their willingness to deliver her again that earth-shattering release she had just succumb to.

"Come on baby-girl, I know you can give me one more."

She felt her core tense, an electric ball of energy curled tightly like a spring  waiting for the right pull, prod, or small motion.

"Give me everything. All you have left. Ness, I love you, let go baby girl."

The ball didn't just ignite, it fucking exploded, sent whatever wherewithal she had left careening off the rails, straight into the haystacks, hell, straight into the mountains beyond.

He watched her gorgeous features light up with a mixture of slight pain and  intense, soul-igniting pleasure. She had never looked more beautiful, more lovely than right then, in the midst of the blissful agony that was her final release of the evening. He felt his chest expand with tightness, the pride of having delivered her this and the security that he was the one who did it, and that she, his love, his all, was the one to receive it.

In the seconds before her eyes slipped close in sleep, he heard her whisper almost inaudibly, head tilted to look deeply and directly into his eyes, "Julian, it's yours. I'm yours. Take it all, if you want it. I love you too."

And with that, her eyes slipped closed and a deep restful sleep overtook her. He would soon slip into the same much needed slumber, but he fought it a moment longer so his fingers could delicately tuck a strand of glossy hair behind her ear as he gazed at her in awe, transfixed. He positioned his much larger body protectively and lovingly over her petite frame, her facial muscles subconsciously relaxing as she felt the comforting weight of the man she fell rock hard and lightning fast for completely engulf her. With a quick peck to her forehead and another whispered, "I love you, Ness," he allowed himself to drift off also.

***

"Earth to Ness!"

Karma snapped her fingers then waved her hand in front of her cousin's blank glare.

Nessa snapped out of her steamy recollection cloaked in embarrassment. She must have been "out" for a bit. Karma, it seemed, knew better than to tease about this and instead was waiting patiently for her to say something.

Nessa's dark brown irises slowly expanded as she took on a steely look of determination. 

"I need to see him."

As soon as the words left her, she trembled at the full force of their meaning. Karma gasped, utterly shocked, but after a few moments, began to slowly nod. They both knew what had to be done and set to work immediately, with Nessa mentally girding herself along the way as the details of their plan coalesced.


	2. Overnight Celebrity

* * *

After some vigorous string-pulling and her Uncle Rav calling in some long overdue favors, Nessa found herself with two tickets to the VMA's happening the following evening. Julian would be in attendance, she had confirmed after some finagling with the MTV events person. With a combination of trepidation and that heavy desire resting deep in her gut, the one she could never seem to shake when it came to Julian, she nervously dialed Liz, the VMA events coordinator, for what felt like the 100th time in the past 24 hours.

As the dial tone rang through the receiver, she felt a pang of brief hesitation—it was extremely reckless this thing she was doing. It had been 3 years of self-imposed exile. Jules had given up trying to contact her around the end of the first and a half—his stubbornness rivaled only her own. Suddenly, a harried voice erupted over the receiver abruptly wrenching her from her wayward thoughts and planting her, for the moment, firmly back into the present.

"Liz speaking."

"Hello, it's Nessa again, sorry to bother you. I know you must be busy prepping for tomorrow."

"No problem, Nessa. How can I help you?"

"Well, I have a request in regards to my table seating," her heart hammered in her chest as she spoke.

Liz sighed against a background soundscape of drills, shouts, jackhammers and other heavy construction, "Okay, shoot."

"I was wondering if it's possible to be seated at the same table as Julian, uh, Julian Casablancas?" Her stomach coiled with that insistent sinking feeling, a bone-melting sense of want as her lips formed his full name for the first time in ages.

There was an abrupt halt in the persistent static crackling and rustling noises from Liz's frenzied attempts to multitask while on the  phone. A tense silence settled on the line, hanging heavily for a few moments until Liz audibly took a deep breath. Nessa imagined her pinching the bridge of her nose with her eyes shut while she tried to collect herself enough to respond to the strange unexpected request.

"Nessa," she spoke haltingly. "I, listen, I don't know if it's my place to say this, but do you think—I mean, are you sure that that's, um," she cleared her throat, " a good idea?"

The thing about basically living on your own from the age of 16 in New York City is that you learn to be absolutely unapologetic in your decision making, even if you are internally unsure. Things move too fast for second guessing and you learn to rely on your gut instinct and to project confidence even if, especially if, you don't actually feel it.

Nessa absolutely abhorred being second-guessed, particularly in regards to personal matters, and even more so by someone she would call an acquaintance at best. Liz had been running award shows for a while and Nessa had been attending them intermittently for a while. They were not strangers, but neither were they friends.

As her irritation grew, she recalled how cloying she found Liz's hyper-aggressive management style at previous events. She remembered Liz's angry face, how it would crinkle when she barked orders at the staff and at times, more so when she was younger, at Nessa herself. This added to her annoyance. She cleared her throat.

"Liz," she spoke firmly, "I made a request about my seating. Can you accommodate it or not?"

"Nessa, does Rav know you're asking about this?"

Invoking the name of a family member, her uncle, a record exec, the one who had raised grave concerns about Julian from the beginning and then got the rest of her family on board when the recklessness became visible, and then public, was the last straw.

"Liz, for the record, I didn't want to remind you, but you've left me zero choice in the matter. Do you recall that time in Vegas when you were supposed to be managing 'Cirque du Soleil' but instead decided to do blow with the contortionists, then get completely shitfaced, followed by the next morning when I walked in on you banging a married diplomat in a hotel room paid for by my family at the exact time I was scheduled to meet with him about the repatriation of historic Indian artifacts? Oh, and I still have the video. Nice one, by the way. I thought my lost weekends were batshit, but you, my friend, you take the fucking cake."

Chilling silence descended on the pair again as Liz probably stood there slack-jawed at Nessa's threat. It was an empty one, they both knew she would not actually follow through with it unless the situation was truly dire, that wasn't typically her family's way, but the mere invocation of it coupled with Nessa's casually mocking tone of delivery pretty much sealed the deal.

"We'll do our, ah, best to, um, seat you at Jules'—I mean, uh, Julian's, table," she exhaled shakily.

"Thanks Liz, I  _really_  appreciate it. Good luck with the rest of the preparations."

"Thanks and no problem," Liz muttered quickly as she hastily ended the call.

Nessa wearily sank down into the couch of her family's LA house, her initial sigh now turning into a small smile of triumph. She typically shied away from playing the bitch-card, but the scalding desire inside of her had stroked the flames of desperation. Moreover, she did not take lightly to censure, and definitely not attempted censure via mention of a family member. Nessa was protective of her family, regardless of the strain being with Jules had put on her relationship with them. And it was no small strain. She felt a pang of anxiety as her thoughts briefly flitted back to that dark period.

Attempting to refocus, she decided that, if nothing else, she was at least proud of standing up for herself and chose to concentrate on that lest the skidding anxiousness put a damper on plans she had already carefully laid. At least this part was taken care of. Now, she just needed to find an outfit. She smiled to herself while scanning through her mental inventory for options, realizing she already knew exactly who to call.

\---

"He toss my salad like his name Romaine." Nessa faux-raps in an exaggerated New York drawl.

"And when we done, I make him buy me Balmain!" they yell in unison, Olivier's native French accent coming through on the last word.

Balmain's Los Angeles atelier was nearly empty at this hour, leaving the two longtime friends to entertain themselves to the loudest of their abilities.

Nessa ran her fingers down the skirt portion of a particularly low-cut dress. She turned to Olivier to ask a question, but he cut her off just as her lips parted.

"Yes, it comes in black, and yes, it comes in leather," he confidently stated.

She chuckled as Olivier joined her at the rack, running his fingers down the lace of the garment.

He sighed, and continued in a more hushed tone, "And I bet Jules will appreciate the low cut."

He turned to glance at Nessa, her face now a mixture of confusion and shock. Olivier's features softened as he donned a comforting smile that quickly turned upwards into a smirk.

"He's always been more of a boob man."

"How did you kno..."

"The boob thing? You shouldn't have to ask at this point. And the other thing," he exhaled, "Liz."

"What the actual fuc..."

He cut her off again, hoping to quell the rising anger he witnessed in her tensing frame, "She called me today to ask if I wanted to be seated at your table. I asked who else was sitting there and when she said Jules' name, I legitimately cackled out loud."

"I bet that was attractive," Nessa muttered sarcastically with a playful smirk.

"It most definitely was not." He chuckled in relief at Nessa's quip, grateful her anger had seemingly subsided.

Olivier then fixed her with a serious look.

"I asked her if she had actually gone and lost her damn mind. I mean, we all know that bitch a little cray."

"You have to be to even consider doing that job," she replied glumly.

"Yes, and that's when she told me he was put at your table by special request. I yelled at her, 'Whose?!?' because my first thought was that someone was trying to fuck with you."

"Ha!"

"And then she said it was by your request and for the second time in the same phone call, I asked myself if this bitch done gone and actually lost her damn mind?"

"Ah, different bitch that time though." Nessa donned a witty smile.

"Haha, yup. At first, I didn't believe her, but when I thought about it, I realized you like never go to award shows anymore and especially not the VMA's, so some shit was definitely brewing."

"Such advanced powers of deduction, Mr. Rousteing!"

"I'm good for more than just swathing PYTs in LBDs, you know."

"I know love." Nessa smiled warmly.

Olivier looked at her expectantly. He knew how uncomfortable it made her to talk about Jules, but to go from routinely avoiding him for three years to requesting him as her tablemate at the VMA's no less was a zero to fifty in five seconds move that Nessa knew she had to at least divulge the bare minimum about, especially as Olivier was instrumental in getting them together in the first place.

He had always supported their relationship. It pained him because he could see she was not the same; she had merely grown better at masking the incorrigible sadness of losing Julian from both herself and everyone else, but not him. He supported her through the shitstorm that was the end of their relationship, even when it was perhaps not in the best interest of the label for him to do so publicly. Nessa had always had his back, protecting him and advocating for his best interests, hell, she was half the reason he had this job. He would go down swinging for her any day.

Nessa knew he deserved an explanation. She paused for a moment to gather and organize her thoughts. Then, with a deep breath, she turned to face the pressure of his expectant gaze and told him everything.

\---

"Ssssshhhittt," Olivier exaggerated the beginning of the word.

"Yup," Nessa shot back, popping the  _p_ , "Remember when he said he had written a song about us, but would only record and release it on three conditions?"

"Vaguely, that time was such a hot mess for all of us," Olivier pondered then added quickly, "for various reasons, not all of which had to do with the breakup."

Nessa nodded, still feeling some residual guilt three years later for the havoc the end of their relationship had reaped on her loved ones.

'Well," she continued, "condition one was if he could record it as a collaboration with Thomas and Guy-Manuel. He had always wanted to work with them."

"Check," Olivier traced an invisible check-mark in the air with his finger.

"Condition two was if he had managed to get sober."

"Check, by all accounts," Oliver gestured again as he spoke.

"Condition three," Nessa paused, stuck.

"Condition three?" Olivier prompted.

"Condition number three was if he still felt the same about me, about us, and deemed himself worthy of my time and attention. Basically it was supposed to be when, although at the time I treated it as an if, he was ready to fully commit to giving it another shot. If he had healed himself and found, like I did, well, do, that there is still a gaping hole in his heart and in his life; if he still couldn't shake that sense of unfulfillment that started steadily building the day I told him I could no longer be his."

Olivier was quiet, shocked by Nessa's honest confession. She was never known to be forthcoming about her feelings, except maybe to a select few—her uncle Rav and cousin Karma, both family, among them.

"Ness...wow...thank you for sharing that with me. I know you hate when I talk about this, but, love, you just haven't been the same since Julian. He was your creative and spiritual equal. The two of you were so alike, and so different at the same time; brooding and internal but emotional and loving all at once. No one ever understood, but we all were constantly in awe of you two."

Nessa smiled to herself and resumed staring at the stripped-down Avedon portrait of Bianca Jagger hanging on the atelier wall.

 

 She was cloudy, lost in thought, and not fully present.

"I remember the first time you met him,  _cherie_."

Nessa turned again to face him, a warmth illuminating her elegant features as she recalled the memory of their first encounter.

She laughed a little at the thought of her and Karma, who had just turned 17 to her 19 at the time, sneaking into the 21+ show at Don Hill's with their very obviously fake ID's purchased for an egregious amount of money three summers prior from a sketchy looking smoke shop in the village. How neither of them had managed to have them confiscated spoke volumes about Nessa's street smarts but more so volumes about the powerful family they were from. It also helped that Nessa knew every bouncer in town—a result of being an overly friendly drunk and looking way younger than her age, prompting some sort of protection instinct from the burly gatekeepers.

They had cut the line and snuck in as usual, Nessa taking a few moments to say hello to Alberto, the bouncer working the door that evening. She was newly single she explained when he mentioned it had been a while since he last saw her. Her on-again, off-again relationship with Sam was and still is the stuff of legend, and Alberto nodded grimly, requiring no further explanation.

"That makes two of us, chica," he shouted over the loud din coming from inside the dingy club as he opened the door to let the next person on line in.

"Shit! Berto! It didn't work out with Tanya, huh?  _Lo siento amor, pero hay algunas pescados, si_?" Nessa drifted into that comfortable Spanish she was studying in class but also had refined through multiple conversations like this one. Unless you listened closely, she could almost be mistaken for a native speaker.

" _Claro que si, Mami_. I'll tell you about it later  _cariña, pero pienso que alguna persona_  is looking for you," Alberto smiled as he pointed inside the venue towards Karma, who was beckoning Nessa in as the band was about to start.

"Better go in," he said as she dropped her cigarette and crushed it under her heel, the bright embers scattering wildly on the pavement before floating into the night. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, the two gin and tonics from earlier making her a little looser and more forward than she was usually comfortable with. Alberto smiled, seemingly used to the fleeting street-side affections of small, slightly tipsy pretty young things and guided her into the smoky club with a gentle hand on her lower back resting securely on the studded metallic silver leather vest she had found on an impromptu trip to "Trash & Vaudeville." She had picked it out as a potential DJing piece but thought a rock concert would be a great way to break such a lovely garment in. She casually flicked her wavy long black hair away from her face. It was middle parted and concealed her sharp delicate features, giving her an air of mystery.

Karma handed her another G&T as they made their way through the crowd. Nessa was regretting the black ballet flats she was sporting. She had chosen them as a nice, lady-like contrast to her studded vest. They were also extremely comfortable, but that did not make up for the harsh biting pain of doc martin after doc martin stepping on her toes, their wearers already wasted and swaying to the placeholder music blasting through the speakers. She and Karma found a spot in the row behind the front. She adjusted her black mini skirt and took a sip of her drink, smiling as she noted it was more gin than tonic—a Don Hills signature.

A hush filled the room as the volume of the music was lowered. Five figures emerged and took their places on stage. It was difficult to make out their features, but even in the shitty light of the hazy club, Nessa felt a wave of absolute need hit her as she made brief eye contact with the lead singer. It was like being shot, so suddenly did the feeling course through her. She was so totally caught off guard, trying to make sense of this aching want, that she barely noticed they had started playing until Karma nudged her shoulder with a knowing look and said, "They're good, right?"

She nodded, eyes still wide and mouth still agape, unsure of what it was about the man currently rasping into the microphone with his thousand-mile stare that completely engulfed her being and made her stomach drop like she was on an amusement park ride. Karma took this as a signal to continue, "They sound the same live as the EP. I'll have to tell Uncle Rav. He'll be so excited to hear it!"

Nessa then realized this was the band that Ravi, their uncle who was an A&R exec at Island records back then, had been raving about. He was so excited after hearing their EP, he sent it to her with the explicit instruction to listen to it immediately and go see them so she could report back if they were anywhere near as good live. She had liked the raw energy of the tracks but had to leave for Italy for a few weeks and hadn't had a chance to follow up and find out where she could see them play. Karma stole the EP off her computer, as she often did with Nessa's music, and must have seen they were performing here tonight. That's probably why she insisted they come here instead of Terminal 5, where Nessa had originally wanted to go so she could drown the sorrows of her recent breakup in the pounding electronic rhythms of Justice.

Now here she stood listening to that gritty voice sing equally gritty and mysterious yet evocative lyrics set to energetic, screeching guitar riffs backed by fervent drums and solid bass lines. She stood transfixed listening to the words, wondering what this insanely attractive young man had experienced that led to them. She had a burning desire to know more. She recalled telling Rav after listening to the EP that these sounds and this attitude, this vibe could not have been created anywhere else but here in New York. Rav wholeheartedly agreed and was eager to see them live the next time they were in London, where he was based.

The lead singer's eyes met hers a few times over the course of the set, momentarily displaying some kind of emotion, curiosity perhaps, before returning to their previous state of detached disaffection. His body moved very little, the intensity of his words contained solely in his penetrating gaze. Each time his glance met her eyes, she felt that same sensation but stronger if even possible, producing a kind of manic urgency that built steadily in the pit of her stomach and finally crystallized into a deep needy ache as the final song ended. That pulsating ache would soon become all too familiar, sometimes alerting her Jules was in the room before she had even seen him. It was the same ache that consumed her now, whittling away at the self restraint she had tried to build and slowly seeping its way toward her heart, which she knew would stand no chance against it if only due to to the barely-concealed fact that she had never really stopped wanting him.

Their first meeting took place shortly after the fortuitous concert Karma had dragged her to. Olivier was still a freelance men's stylist, working his way up through the ateliers by day and styling, which was severely looked down upon by the 'serious' fashion community, at night. She had dropped by the photo studio on her way home as a favor to Olivier, or Oli, as she had nicknamed him, who had been sending her an increasingly desperate string of texts begging for her help with a particularly difficult job. He thought her New York background might give her enough cred with this difficult band to get them into proper non-thrift store outfits for the shoot that was already running behind schedule.

"Find me a shoot that doesn't," Nessa muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs to the second floor studio of a former warehouse in Chelsea.

She slipped her phone in her pocket as she entered the light-filled space, currently bustling with activity. It reeked of stale cigarettes, a smell Nessa despised despite growing up in the city and hanging out with as well as being a smoker herself.

Olivier caught sight of her, looking chic as ever in a matte silver leather jacket, under which she donned a thin, slightly see-through black tank cut low, which she could do with her small breasts without worry of overexposure, and black skinny jeans paired with a set of worn-in black ballet flats of all things. Only she would think of pairing such a tough outfit with such sweet flats, but it worked for her because it reflected her vibe perfectly. Olivier smiled to himself at these thoughts.

 _"_ _Grace à Dieu!_ _"_ Olivier shouted across the space. All eyes momentarily turned to her. A beat passed and all activity resumed except for a disheveled group of guys Nessa noticed sitting on a couch to one side of the space. Every single one of them was a holding a cigarette and suddenly, realization dawned on her—this was the same band Rav had asked her to check out and she had seen at Don Hills earlier this week.

She all of a sudden felt very hot and and a heavy feeling settled in her stomach as she recalled the intense eye contact she had made with the lead singer throughout the set. Just as she was about to succumb to extreme mortification, Olivier grabbed her hand and led her over to the couch.

"The Strokes, meet my good friend Nessa. Nessa, these are the Strokes."

"Minus Julian," the tallest of the bunch with a gorgeous pair of deep blue eyes spoke up.

Nessa smiled at him, "I actually saw you guys play at Don Hills earlier. You all sound amazing live."

The blue eyed one spoke with a warm smile on his face, "That's awesome. I thought you looked familiar. Jules is going to flip," he muttered the last part to himself but Nessa heard it clearly in the large space.

"Hi, I'm Fab," the shortest curly-haired one extended his hand, which Nessa shook politely with a smile.

"Nice to meet you, Fab, is that short for something?" Nessa asked.

"Fabrizio," the other curly-haired but much taller one answered, "and I'm Albert."

Nessa shook his large hand, noting from the roughness of his fingers that he was probably one of the guitarists.

"Nick," the blue-eyed shaggy-haired and extremely skinny one stated while regarding Nessa. His knobby knees poked through the seriously frayed holes of his jeans. He didn't move to shake her hand as he was sitting furthest away behind a coffee table that sported an overflowing ashtray and several empty beer bottles.

"Nikolai," the broad-shouldered one in a grey blazer muttered quietly.

"Nikolai  _parle le français_ ," Olivier said to her.

 _"_ _Oh! Bon, est-ce que vous êtes français_?" Nessa turned to Nikolai and said in perfect French.

 _"_ _Lycée_ ," Nikolai responded quietly, clearly a bit uncomfortable with all the attention focused on him.

"And here comes Julian," Olivier said, as all eyes moved from Nikolai to the tall, slightly tan, artfully disheveled figure emerging from behind a white canvas curtain delineating the dressing area. It appeared as if Olivier had finally managed to convince at least one Stroke to try on the outfit he had selected for the shoot.

"Glad someone decided to cooperate today," Olivier stated while glaring at the other members of the band, who jointly ignored him.

"Jules, you look good! Skinny jeans treat you well."

Nessa's gaze panned from the most beat-up pair of black converses she had ever encountered in person, up past endless shapely legs, to a promising looking bulge framed by a pair of lusciously curving hips, through a narrow waist and flat stomach, sturdy, broad shoulders made to appear narrower through a slouching posture often adopted by the naturally tall, a rounded chin capped his oval-shaped face. Nessa's eyes wandered further as she subconsciously swallowed with thirst. Plush, gorgeous pink lips carried a light smirk as she took in his elegant nose. Her breath hitched as their eyes met, dark brown to honey brown irises equally dilated with pure unadulterated lust. The locks of his wispy chestnut hair framed his features perfectly and Nessa watched transfixed as they drifted with the movement of his head as it tilted slightly further in her direction. Those lush lips parted as a low voice with a tinge of rasp echoed through the concrete space, the vibration and tone of it causing Nessa's pulse to quicken and the wetness that had started as soon as she began ogling him picked up pace. Her skin felt hot, and she felt an intense, heavy pulsating energy sink and settle deep in her pelvis, adding to the wetness soaking her panties.

"Hey, aren't you that chick from the concert?"


	3. Starve The Ego, Feed The Soul

* * *

Nessa sighed as she stepped into the waiting black SUV, muttering a polite, "Thank you" to Victor, her longtime bodyguard and sometimes confidant. He responded with a curt nod. They both hated awards shows. He for the security nightmare the red carpet posed and she for the sheer stress of the whole affair. She subconsciously pulled at the sides of her 'so deep it should be illegal', as she had jokingly referred to it in the atelier, V-cut of her dress closer together. Nervously chuckling again to herself, she ran through all the possible red carpet nightmare scenarios in her head.

"Good!" Olivier had exclaimed, "What do you want,  _cherie_? A modesty bib? Honey, this is Balmain!" He shouted with an air of brash confidence stressing the 'main' as he gesticulated wildly in the air for emphasis.

"Modesty bibs are for the over 45 and/or the large-chested," he continued, pointing one long manicured finger at Nessa's chest, "and you, darling, are neither." They both burst out laughing immediately afterwards.

Sure, the dress fit, but an unkind angle could easily have her flashing more than just a smile at the crowd. The five inch stilettos (she had only narrowly talked Olivier out of six) were also a cause for concern. One misstep was all that stood between her and certain embarrassment. She took a deep breath and closed her heavily tinted dark violet eyelids. It was worth it, or so she tried to shakily convince herself as she felt her mind drift off with the steady motion of the vehicle, back to that night after the photoshoot, the night of their first kiss.

Olivier threw an afterparty at the apartment Nessa's parents had allowed her to inhabit since she was 16—which was really Ravi's NYC SoHo bachelor pad. She recalled the rather flimsy logic she presented to convince them, consisting of, "well you're never here anyway, and this way I can keep an eye on it for Uncle Rav, even if it's a bit longer to school." They accepted under the condition that she spend more of the summers at the family house in London. Not too shabby except Nessa despised being under the watchful gaze of her extended family and also disliked London in the summertime, preferring the gritty, sweaty NYC downtown scene at places like Arlene's, where she had met Sam, and Don Hills to the 'rave nonsense', as she had termed it, of the UK club scene.

This remained the case until the music of the latter got really good, but that was still a couple years away on this particular evening in which Nessa found herself alone on her balcony with the same doe-eyed shaggy-haired lead singer she couldn't shake from her mind since first laying eyes (and ears) upon him earlier that week. He stood there, his posture louche, cigarette dangling from one hand, beer bottle held precariously between two slightly calloused fingers on the other. The leather jacket he was currently sporting—and frankly looked like he was born in, that's how well it suited him—squeaked lowly against the din of traffic from below as he moved the hand containing the cigarette vaguely in Nessa's direction.

"Hey," the deep rasp of his singing voice carried over to his speaking voice, she had noticed.

Nessa cooly took a drag of her own cigarette as her eyes flicked to his.

"Hi."

Silence. She had nothing to say. Nothing came to mind as her eyes took their chance to gaze longingly as they drifted unabashed over his features, something she thought she had been sneakily doing all day, but his knowing smirk as he regarded her regarding him said otherwise.

His lips parted again, "So, are you like a princess or something?"

Nessa's face fell at this and the guy had the decency to look apologetic.

"Sorry," the deep voice caught her off guard, "it's just something I heard Olivier mention in passing."

Nessa felt slightly better knowing that he was asking out of curiosity and not willful malintent.

"No, it's fine really," she half-forced a smile and continued, "Yes, sort of?"

She was trying to buy herself some time to formulate a response that would adequately sum up that particular web of crap in one elegant sentence or less. He now looked genuinely perplexed. She was failing.

"It's complicated," she blurted out without thinking, then almost immediately face-palmed from the sheer cliché-ness of it, except she noticed his smirk had returned in full force and she gave a small one of her own in response.

"Is this?" He asked, gesturing between their standing forms with the beer bottle. His voice sent the waves of desire already inundating her petite frame coursing even more desperately through it.

"What?" A knowing smirk was plastered on her face now.

"You know," he responded with a mischievous grin.

"Is this it?" She smiled fully at the pun and he seemed simultaneously caught off guard by her wit, amused, and impressed.

"Depends," he said more softly, his gravelly voice dropping even lower as he took another puff of his cigarette, playing along.

"On what?" Her tone dropped and softened to match his, slight apprehension in her voice as she became aware that they were definitely in flirting territory.

Almost in slow motion, she watched what happened next unfold.

"On this," Julian growled, still in a whisper, as he forcefully flung his cigarette to the floor and took two decisive steps towards her.

His 6'2" frame towered over her lithe 5'2" body as she felt rough skin cup her cheek. Taking her by surprise, his next actions were in direct contrast as his fingers stroked her cheek tenderly and she emerged from her shock fully into the moment to find herself staring at hazel eyes that reflected her own desire.

They were on the same page, always were and always would be, a strange kind of limbic resonance that solidified itself in the exact moment she moved slightly forward and their lips, each perfect pairs in their own ways, came crashing together, confirming the intense passion of the glances they had been exchanging all day up to this moment and concretizing that electric buzz of carnal excitement they both couldn't help but succumb to when in each other's presence.

As a tongue slid against a lower lip, as teeth bit into soft flesh and teased, as tongues moved deftly together, it didn't matter whose; she didn't remember nor was it of any significance. In that moment and in moments like it that came after, they were one.

Nessa smiled deeply at the memory now, fingers subconsciously toying with the 'illegal V'.

"Nessa, we're here," Victor's tense notice echoed through the vehicle. She glanced out of the mercifully tinted windows at the absolute mob scene that awaited her outside.

"Totally worth it," she whispered to herself as her fingers slid into the groove surrounding the cold metal of the door lock. Clicking it open and with one five inch stiletto firmly planted on solid even ground, she ventured into the haze of flashing lights, debutantes, celebutantes, reality show stars, starlets, hot young hollywood, new old hollywood, pop stars, bands, 'musicians' of top 40 fame, rappers, 'legends', old timers, one hit wonders, and the rest of their ilk.

\---

"Who are you wearing tonight?" The perky blonde in way too much foundation and way too many sequins asked her, pointing directly at the somewhat prominent bones poking out through the bare skin of her chest exposed by the 'illegal V'.

Nessa smiled politely and answered the question for what felt like the 29th time, "Balmain."

"Oh! I saw Olivier earlier, he's here with Carly," the perky blonde said in a gossipy tone, clearly attempting to stir up a bit of social drama where there was none.

Nessa maintained her fake, but hopefully convincing, friendly smile as she proceeded to shut her down, "Yes, I know, and they both look lovely! Hopefully I'll see her during the ceremony and have the chance to congratulate her on the fall/winter campaign. She looks fantastic in the ads, don't you think?"

Somehow, Nessa maintained her benevolent expression, not giving away that she clearly knew this junior reporter had not done her research well enough to know that was the reason Oli was currently sauntering down the red carpet at a major awards show with the model of the moment on his arm instead of one of his best and oldest friends who had not been seen on a red carpet in months and barely made such public appearances.

"Uh, yeah, they were fabulous!" The perky blonde lied, caught off guard and slightly embarrassed.

Nessa debated going in for the kill by asking her some incredibly specific question about the ads, and had just decided to spare the poor sequined girl when she felt a hand rest lightly on her leather-clad shoulder. She tilted her head to inspect it briefly and smiled. She could recognize the alabaster skin and slender elegant digits anywhere.

Turning her head back to the reporter, she returned to her fake nice face and beamed a gracious smile at her, "Thank you, it was lovely speaking with you, have a good rest of the evening!" She then abruptly turned to face the owner of the pale hand still perched calmly and securely on her bony shoulder.

"Sam." She greeted with a warm smile. It had been a few months since their most recent breakup, which was around the time one or both would start missing the other and they would inevitably reunite and date for about six or so months before the always sweet and heady initial passion would die a slow death yet again and they would separate, break up and start the slightly fucked up cycle yet again.

Nevertheless, even when apart, they shared a fondness and respect for each other that intimate knowledge of someone inside and out over a long period of time fosters. Looking at him now, his sharp features and slightly unruly hair illuminated by the sea of flashbulbs behind her, she felt the inexplicable weight and lightness of realization dawn upon her. She loved Sam, she always would. He was her first everything really, and he was kind to her, patient with her innocence and lack of experience and gentle with her, at least at the beginning before she realized that roughness can be just as fun. He was even able to control his jealousy when she would try to date other people during their breaks, mostly because he knew that eventually her passion would fizzle there too, and she would find him and reunite. She would always come back to him and even if he, too, was in the midst of a new romance, he would abandon it, in the hopes that this time, maybe it would last with Nessa. He was her first and he wanted to be her last.

He had even proposed, but after a long engagement, in which Nessa made no moves to plan a wedding, he had asked her just how long of an engagement she had in mind. She had sighed in response. Something had not felt quite right in her gut about it and she ended up calling it off, telling Sam it was too much pressure and she needed some time. That was the most dramatic, and recent, of their breakups.

Nessa had tried to soul search since then, but after a bizzare and uncanny experience with a mountain shaman in Morocco, she felt even more off-kilter. The man had told her she had lost her completeness eons ago, when the universe was still blackness and the stars were yet to be born. She had lost it but she was fated to find it again in this life, in fact she might already have, but she would never be fully able to realize her potential without him. Yes, the shaman in his guttural French-infused Arabic had said, "him." The only thing standing in her way was herself. He had stated all this with equanimity as he gazed knowingly into the large bonfire in front of them.

"He is your one, and without him, you will only ever be half. Together you will both be whole. You will know of each other like you know of yourself and the flames that alight between you will burn for eternity. You will never know again hunger nor fear, but only self. Look for a signal, some sign, a message, when the time is ripe, it will be cast to you. Heed it my child, or you will suffer greatly your indecision, forever wondering, seeking, but never finding truth."

Nessa's face had fallen immediately and she had run as quickly as her feet would carry her to Victor below and demanded to be taken back to Tangiers immediately, even though she had been planning to spend the night listening to the throaty lilting  _ghazals_  of the Sufi mystics inhabiting the other side of the mountain. She had lay low since then, too shocked and terrified to examine her own heart until now.

"Nessa!" Sam replied with an equally warm smile. As she gazed into those familiar green orbs, the strange unsettled feeling started churning in her gut again, and the epiphany hit her like a punch to the face. She would always love Sam, but she was not in love with him. She hadn't been for some time and while she kept returning to him for the comfort to ease her loneliness and horniness, it was only a temporary reprieve. She couldn't marry him because she was still searching for something, or was it someone?

A particularly bright flash brought her back to the present moment, where Sam's fine, pointed features bore an expectant expression.

"Sorry!" Nessa shouted, "I didn't catch that!"

Sam smiled and placed a comforting hand on her lower back, drawing them closer together.

"I said I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't know you were coming." It was a slight dig. He had asked her to go as his date a few months ago when the nominees were announced and his band was up for best video from a film for a song they had contributed to the 'Twilight' movie soundtrack. She had initially accepted, then assumed the denial was implied after their breakup. She had honestly forgotten about it in the haze of events and dilemmas that ensued.

They were conspicuously closer now and Nessa was careful about her angles as she leaned in and spoke directly into his ear, "Yet again, sorry! It was a bit of a last minute decision."

At this, Sam smirked, taking his turn to lean in—or down more like it with his 6'2" frame. It definitely looked intimate and Nessa acknowledged somewhere in the back of her mind that the photos of them being taken now would, in the morning, be tabloid fodder especially after their failed engagement. It would be a nightmare to deal with.

"Last minute, huh?" Sam said in a playfully suspicious tone. "Did you miss me that badly already, love?" His pet name for her, which had once so filled her with passion now only inspired a deep and abiding fondness, but it had no bite to it. It didn't cause her insides to curl upon themselves with anticipatory desire, nor was her flesh on fire, blood boiling with an overwhelming need that took her breath away and made her feel as if she would spill out of her own skin. No, nothing like that, nothing even close to it. It was strange.

"In your dreams, Endicott," she deflected with a quip. She was not in the right environment to take the time needed to reflect on these atypical feelings. For the first time, she felt the need for space away from her longtime on-again / off-again beau.

"Sam, I better get going. Oli has been frantically waving at me for over two minutes now and I'm worried if I don't go over there soon, his arm will fall off."

Sam glanced in the direction Nessa was looking and saw the harried designer beckoning her to the entrance of the venue. He chuckled at Oli's fervor and turned back to Nessa, dipping low to whisper into her ear, "Will I see you at the afterparty,  _chica_?"

Another term of endearment, another wave of fondness fluttered through her body leaving emptiness in its wake.

"Unlikely," she whispered back. Regardless of what happened with Julian, she highly doubted she would want to be at an afterparty surrounded by awards show attendees in addition to her ex afterwards.

"I'll see you in there," she spoke lowly with an air of finality. Sam looked a bit stunned, not used to his advances being rebuffed by her, especially after their usual cursory three months apart. He nodded his assent but his pale features bore a look of suspicion. Nessa internally cursed herself for not choosing her words to him more carefully.

He knew something was up and he knew her well enough to guess that it could be one of only a few things. She knew once he saw where she was sitting, or more specifically who she was sitting with, he would flip. There was only one person who resonated with her on all levels beyond just the intense sexual connection they shared, and that person was Julian, had always been Julian, and Nessa was about to test the theory that it would always be Julian.

Nessa gave him a chaste peck on the cheek, catching him off guard as she was always resistant to any displays of public affection. Sam stiffened as he watched her small form glide away in a form-fitting dress that was definitely sexier than anything she would usually wear on a red carpet. Something was definitely up, and he was determined to find out what before the evening was up.

\---

"Madame, how have the  _chaussures_ been treating you this evening?" Olivier greeted in his heavily accented English as Nessa approached the entrance of the venue with a smile and a look of relief.

"Not bad,  _Monsieur_ , so far only one near-death experience—but I survived."

"Ah, maybe we should have gone with the four-and-a-half inch ones after all," he pondered as he examined Nessa's shoes and outfit, tugging here and there to adjust anything that seemed out of place after the red carpet press walk frenzy.

"Why?" She questioned, worried that Oli was second guessing the entire outfit.

"Well, with the four-and-a-halves, maybe you could have run away from what must have been a terribly uncomfortable conversation with your ex," he stated matter of factly, his gaze now fixed on Nessa who was blushing—not that anyone could tell under her makeup and naturally tan skin—except, of course, for Olivier.

They both burst out laughing before posing for a few photos together and then heading into the venue.   
  



	4. Meet Me in The Bathroom

* * *

Taking in the huge production, Nessa walked carefully into the massive space. It had been a while since her last VMA's and she was more than a little nervous for what was about to come. Olivier must have realized this and it was probably why he had abandoned Karlie to escort her inside instead. Other than Karma, who was traipsing around somewhere with whichever member of One Direction she was currently trying to date—Nessa had honestly lost track after Harry didn't work out, Oli was the only other person who fully understood the emotional magnitude of this evening. She paused, letting go of his arm to pull him into a big hug.

" _Merci Oli, pour tout._ " She looked directly into his eyes afterwards to make sure he understood exactly what it was she was thanking him for. He nodded solemnly as she pecked him on the cheek and shakily made her way to the nearest usher to find out exactly where in this massive godforsaken auditorium filled with moving masses of bodies all dressed to the nines she would find her table, and her other ex.

The usher pointed her to the back of the middle of the room. She had forgotten Jules was nominated tonight for his song with Daft Punk, hence the slightly center table assignment. She felt a wild mixture of nerves, apprehension, anxiety, stupidity, doubt—What if she had read the signs wrong? What if this was the worst decision she had ever made? What if this broke her heart again? Could she live through the pain a second time? She thought of the feeling of his lips on hers after an entire day of his eyes on her body that first time. She couldn't help but smile in the middle of this brief reverie.

A small niggling seed of blind hope washed over her in the moments of her approach. All of those feelings, the doubts and the hopes alike, were rapidly and violently replaced with pure pounding blood-curdling desire, thick lust of the headiest kind, a scalding liquid tsunami of want drenching her insides and causing the muscles in her abdomen to clench in a tight knot of sustained torturous anticipation as the rolling waves of pleasure cresting through her begged for release.

Her face must have said it all, but despite how desperate and downright thirsty she knew she must look in these moments, she simply could not look away, nor stop her movement towards the object of this tempest boiling inside her—one Julian Casablancas. Seated across from her, he was perched in his chair with a sequined blazer hugging his arms and chest, the individual paillettes shimmering mirage-like under the bright lights with the now rapid rising and falling of his chest. A downright predatory gaze and that all-too familiar mischievous smirk gracing his plump, full lips combined to set her blood alight.

She felt her walls contract upon seeing him in the flesh after so long. All she could feel and try to keep up with was that blinding want, a searing need that now sat heavily deep in her core—waves of it rolling through her as she shivered with their force, taking her seat across from their object, who not once broke his intense, penetrating gaze.

\---

The gravity of his eyes on my body kept me pinned to my seat—unnaturally still, and unable to even exchange the social niceties required at an event like this with our table mates. I watched his eyes slowly pan from my face down to my lips, my chin and neck, and then my exposed chest, where they came to linger on the illegal "V" of Oli's dress. I saw his breath hitch as the bright lights indicating the show had commenced illuminated his features. I watched his eyes trace around the "V", and his throat constrict as he swallowed. I almost lost my own ability to breathe. His gaze snapped back to mine. Leveling me with a hungry stare, he slowly and oh so deliberately licked his lips which themselves settled into a devilish smirk that spelled nothing but mischief. My already labored breathing only increased in pace, my lips parted, lust-heavy eyes narrowed, completely consumed by the man sitting across from me.

I knew we could both feel it—that otherworldly magnetic force that drew us to each other despite ourselves. I could see from the way his pouty bottom lip was currently being held tightly between his teeth, as he maintained direct and searing eye contact with me, that he was equally affected and had, like me, long ago given up any hope of fighting this unseen force that drew us devastatingly closer. It always lay there, thick in the air around us when we were in the vicinity of each other. The sexual tension, the longing, the no-holds-barred need that radiated from us was palpable. If I were not half its creator, I would surely choke on it, so physical was it, crackling, pulsating, and vibrating around and through us.

I heard someone in my proximity clear their throat, abruptly pulling me out of the stare-down. My head snapped to the left—automatically seeking the source of the interruption. I found it in Gaspard, one half of Justice, an old "comrade"—as I liked to refer to more than acquaintances but less than friends—from my days in the French electro scene. It was post-Julian and I was a lost soul in need of lost nights and decent bass. After the quality of the molly started plunging, I decamped to Japan for seven months where I learned the art of DJing, mixing and producing as I developed my ear under the tutelage of an offbeat but highly respected Czech master of what came to be called "braindance." Gaspard encountered me again a year later, but this time I was behind the booth and slowly gaining some mild respect from the mostly male community. That was two years ago and he had always been supportive—coming out to my gigs whenever our locations intersected and generally being a fun guy.

He was one of the few at this table, however, who had not witnessed the 11 month fuck-fest that was Jules and my relationship. Most who had not witnessed it heard about it secondhand and knowing how intense we actually were, I cringe at the thought of the exaggerated secondhand retelling of it—much less what "the incident" must have morphed into. From the bewildered expression Gaspard was giving me, it dawned on me that he must be one of the rare few who were spared both the memory of actually seeing how ravenously Julian and I glared at each other at all times; how once skin-to-skin contact was made, everyone knew to exit the room or stay out of our path if we were headed somewhere more private. There were only a handful of times we were able to maintain some sense of "decency," not that it did anything to stifle the pangs of electricity that would ripple forth from the space between our two bodies, vaporizing everything in their path, leaving just us in any room full of people.

No, the lovely, poor, innocent Gaspard had neither firsthand experience nor secondhand fables to explain why instead of saying hello to him, as I have always done, I instead stared like a thirsty camel at a random rockstar who not only returned my stare, but magnified it tenfold by blatantly ogling my body. Gaspard had seen me call out amorous drunks for less when I'd felt uncomfortable in the past—so to say he was perplexed was an understatement. I gave him a shy smile, another first in our history of interaction, and subtly shrugged my shoulders while mouthing in French, " _Je ne sais quoi_." He gave me a puzzled but relaxed smile as I turned to face Julian again.

Instead of the electrifying gaze I was expecting, a solemn and stony expression hardened his features. I heard the squeak of his chair legs moving against the floor. He rose smoothly, maintaining his dominating glare and an entirely new and doubly intense wave of arousal washed through me, causing my shoulders to shiver slightly and refreshing the dampness between my thighs. I squirmed slightly in my seat, tightening my leg muscles as I pushed my thighs together in the vain hope of stemming the flow.

Julian's eyes were asking a silent question. I stared hard, hoping to decipher his query. Suddenly, it clicked. It was a game of sorts we used to play when the need for each other was too great but the circumstances too inappropriate to risk it in public. Jules would make this authoritative eye contact—which I swear I could feel even if I were 10,000 miles away, and I would always accept with a subtle nod. He would excuse himself to the restroom and I would wait exactly 8 minutes (10 was too obvious, 5 too short), before then making some excuse to sneak off and go find him. This led to rough and insanely pleasurable quickies in a variety of bathrooms, bedrooms, closets, stairwells, narrow/secluded hallways and all other manner of confined and semi-private spaces.

That authoritative stare, initiator of this most naughty kind of mischief, was the exact one directed at me now. Before I even had a chance to think about it, to think about the question that was silently being asked, how I felt about it, much less where we currently were, my head tilted slightly forward, accepting his proposition. At that, his lips once again curled into that sexy smirk that liquified my insides and melted any resolve or restraint I fancied having. My eyes tracked his retreating figure as it moved towards the entrance area and was finally consumed by the shadows cast down by the second level balconies.

\---

She started her internal clock but was thrown off by the acute attention of literally every person at the table. They were all now staring at her with looks ranging from confusion to mild disgust and judgement. She met each glare boldly with her own, daring each in turn to vocalize their disapproval. Each pair of eyes returned to the stage—where Justin Bieber was proceeding to butcher his own song while halfheartedly dancing to semi-robotic choreography. He was wearing what Nessa could only assume was his stylist's take on post-apocalyptic L.A. streetwear. It was sad to witness, but Nessa had always had a soft spot for lovers and Romantics and she could tell he was one. She listened to the lyrics, silently hoping that the object of his affections, whoever left him in his current state was worth it and that the muse, goddess, or whatever force looks after lovers and Romantics like the two of them would steel and protect Nessa's heart from the potential heartache that lay in waiting in the encounter she was about to have with Julian.

Feeling antsy and being eaten alive with anticipation, Nessa rose out of her seat unsteadily. Gaspard leaned to put his hand on her lower back to steady her. She smiled at him gratefully while whispering, " _Merci, plus tard_." He winked as she made her way with slightly more confidence towards the entrance and the shadows of the overhang which had engulfed Jules not too long ago. Whispers from the table trailed her, reaching their loudest point as soon as it seemed she was out of earshot. Their content was undoubtedly about her and the man she was about to see.

\---

Teetering down the dim hallway, Nessa cursed the towering heels. She was one nasty wobble away from meeting the marble floor with more than just her soles. Keeping her gait as light as possible, her small frame creeped carefully down the corridor. She exhaled a small sigh at the absurdity of her slow-mo tip-toeing in the semi-darkness towards a destination more uncertain than the tread of the pin-point heels on the slippery ground. She was treading a slippery-slope in other ways—still anxious she had read the signs wrong, misinterpreted the signals, or worse yet, that she had indeed gotten them right. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach and she felt her initial confidence waning and replaced by a morose self-consciousness grimly weighing upon her.

What a right fool she must have looked back at the table! Speaking to no one so she could gawk at her former lover like a parched animal. She needed to have more self-possession, or at least try to. Such traits withered in his presence, they always had—no match for the nuclear levels of energy between them, as inevitable as it was uncontrollable, by either party. She had always accepted it  _pro se_ , an unexplainable force, an attraction of cosmic proportions. It rendered all defenses moot and even ensnared passersby at times. Karma, Ravi, Jules' bandmates, fans, strangers, wildlife alike had all felt the pull, the solid magnetic waves pulsing through and enervating the air around and between them.

For Karma, Romantic in all things, this phenomenon meant only one thing—their union was pre-ordained; their hopeless entanglement contrived eons ago, by forces or for reasons unknown. It reeked of much the same to Ravi and the rest of her family, though their outlook was decidedly un-Romantic. Ceding control was dangerous and vague suspicion was all they could offer the couple. Better than outright disdain, but not by much.

Nessa understood that the force was neither dark nor light, just powerful. It could kill her, it could consume her, it could fuel and empower her, inspire her, allow her to soar, but also to sink. It very nearly did all of these the last time around. The direction of its thrust hinged delicately on the nature of the relationship between its two actors, as in-balance or chaotic as they themselves were in that moment. A feedback loop that at times gave Nessa experiences that were nothing short of euphoric. At other times, they were utterly demolishing. She wanted another taste of it, felt ready to handle it this time. However, that was only one-half the conceit. None of it would matter—neither what she wanted nor her readiness to take it fully into herself—if Jules was unwilling, incapable, or blind to the interplay.

She had spent years reflecting on those 11 long months. She had no idea if he had engaged it with the same mental fortitude in retrospect or if he had instead done that most Julian of all things—run. Fast. Away. Clear in the other direction as fast as his endless legs and smoker's lungs would take him, only to wind up precisely where he started and where Nessa currently stood—on the brink of restarting the cycle, burning the old growth to the ground and hoping for new shoots to spring forth out of its charred remains. The monumentality of this decision weighed her with doubt. She forged onward however, allowing the words of William Wadsworth to guide her, "To begin, begin." A small smile lighted her features as she felt the stirrings of courage from within burst forth with those words.

Pausing as she came to a set of four doors, two on either side of the corridor that appeared to be bathrooms. It was eerily silent save for the occasional far-floating applause from inside the auditorium—some nothing award for the latest pop sensation, walking up to the stage to give a nothing speech and accept the "moon man" that Nessa had once lovingly referred to as "not a Grammy," sending Olivier and one of her oldest friends Charlotte into hysterics.

Gathering her thoughts, she subconsciously tugged at the illicit "V" and straightened her stance, taking a long, deep, centering breath.

"Julian?" She called into the dimness and braced herself.

Silence.

She took two small steps forward.

Still silent.

Turning her body slightly, she waited another minute. "Just in case," she told herself although the leaden bleakness was already starting to make its slow descent into her bones.

Nothing but more silence confronted her and she sighed heavily, wearily, nerves worn thin and constitution fraying. Turning on her heel, already resigned to the pitiful meandering that would ferry her back to the artificial too-bright stage lights of the auditorium, her table and the rest of this godforsaken evening—completely alone, the same way she had arrived.

A light breezy whoosh of air fluttered against her, teasing her skin as she felt a sudden firm grasp on her elbow. Her initial shock subsided enough that she became vaguely aware she was being spun round on her heels and gently but swiftly pulled past the open door of the plush single stall that was formerly behind her. Gasping, her back hit the icy ceramic of the tiled wall—startlingly frigid even through her dress. Raising her head slowly, she registered the hot grounding grip of two large hands on her hips—steadying her and massaging slightly, perhaps even absentmindedly, as digits rhythmically pressed with varying degrees of intensity and pressure.

Her wide earthen glare met smoldering dark honey orbs as heavy silence blanketed the space. As if possessed, they stood there regarding each other with a mixture of incredulity and awe. The brutal whirlwinds of deep carnal attraction, desire, lust, need, want, hunger, craving, and pure raw sexual energy raged in the stillness between and around them.

Nessa's body trembled. Julian tightened his grip instinctively—as if she would simply float skywards should he let go even for the briefest moment. Time was stretched, dilated, diffusing slowly around them. Julian leaned toward her lips, his gaze intensifying, beseeching. He paused abruptly midway for a moment, catching himself and giving her an out if she so chose.

She didn't.

Surging forward to meet him eagerly, she felt a force propel her back against the wall so that as lips collided, so did her body with the tiles and their chill, causing her to emit a small, "oh," halfway between a murmur and a gasp, at the dueling sensations—scorching lust-fueled fire and electric chill nipping at her back. Julian took this as an opportunity to playfully capture her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at the supple flesh gently before release it to continue the fervent melding of his lips with hers.

Nessa's hand quickly traveled to his shoulder, followed by the other to his hair, returning his playful tug with one of her own as her slender fingers firmly gripped the soft chestnut locks. Julian smirked into the kiss, fighting fire with fire by begging for entry to her mouth with a well-timed lave of his tongue across her now besieged lips. The adrenaline had started pumping when Nessa's brain finally caught up to her body enough to realize that her gut was not far off given the present surprise illicit bathroom rendezvous. Her heartbeat was out of control, thumping away like a madman fueled by the myriad states she was experiencing simultaneously—excitement from the surprise, Jules' much taller frame pressing her petite body against the cold tile wall, the slickness of his tongue against her own, not so much a duel as a desperate dance, each touch sending hot hot heat right down to the place that Julian's fingers were dangerously close to, as they brushed smoothly down her hips and moved to play gingerly with the hem of her extremely short dress—she'd have to thank Olivier for his easy access design genius later.

A vague part of her felt relief, followed by fresh anxiety concerning questions she was currently too turned on to answer, much less ask. It was always his way to overwhelm, to short circuit her systems, override any notions of decency, restraint, or rationality. She missed this, she missed ceding control, the wild freedom it proffered. She missed him. He pulled slightly back from the kiss, lips glistening, with a wolfish grin that spelled nothing but trouble.

Nessa bit the corner of her bottom lip attempting to project a composed exterior, internally willing herself to calm down lest the wetness surging out of her break its dams and drown them both. He knew, he totally knew, shit-eating grin and all, exactly how wet she was for him. He was reveling in it, proud and sly.

Fingers softly traced her seams, one set toying playfully with her hem, the other set now skimming the illicit "V", leather between thumb and forefinger, probing her vulnerabilities, waiting to infiltrate.

Fuck, he smelled so good. She squirmed in place as yet another frisson of need erupted and rolled urgently down her midline, pouring languorously into the hot pit of her groin. A steady hand reasserted its pressure on her abdomen, pinning her in place and stilling her quaking core, just for a moment. Piercing eyes further fixed her in place before fluttering close as his head dipped down, lips dripping soft kisses onto her neck, then collarbones, joined by a bit of tongue trailing lightly over her exposed sternum as fingers breached the "V", a brief and tender brush of knuckles against her breast as the fabric was pulled aside and the hardened nub underneath immediately ensconced in his hot, wet mouth. The tip of his tongue flicked against the creased skin, which tightened further, in a futile attempt to resolutely withstand his slick, pulsing assault. Releasing a long, biting gasp of utter satisfaction, she panted as the hand previously pinning her against the tile now came as reinforcement, dipping stealthily beneath the other side of the "V" and cupping Nessa's small, tender breast in a secure grip filled with warmth and possession.

Flicking gave way to divine suction as Nessa cried sharply. Her nipples had always been particularly sensitive and he knew exactly how to get them raw and throbbing under his touch, teeth, and tongue. She loved the sensation, relished the delicious biting agony of the pleasure/pain paradigm he so expertly enacted on her open willing body. Wispy locks tickled her chest as Julian's tongue moved to the other bud, holding it between his teeth and applying just enough pressure to throw Nessa off balance as she reeled, simultaneously aching for relief and wanting him to continue for the rest of eternity. Shit, he might even be able to make her cum from this alone...She was abruptly pulled from these sexy thoughts as Jules' body snapped upward to balance her teetering frame, holding her up with those very same hands that were delivering obscene amounts of pleasure to her chest only moments ago.

He examined her face—she looked spacey, rapt, beautiful as her luminous tan skin shined under the dim lights, a thin layer of sweat having sprung up. Her familiar scent pervaded his senses, like sweet earth, honeyed clay, fresh and mellifluous , doing absolutely nothing to quell his raging hunger for her body, for her. His smirk turned into a kind, adoring smile as he allowed himself to appreciate their togetherness in this brief moment, so familiar and alien at the same time. She was older now, different yes, but he could still her make her body sing.

Nessa's heart swelled at this brief change of pace, of mood, as she regained her footing and presentness. Her respite lasted only a few moments, however, because as quickly as it came, the loving smile gracing his lax, voluptuous lips was replaced with one of roguishness as he shifted forward to hover next to Nessa's ear, breath tickling the sensitive skin there.

He whispered lowly, plainly but in a clearly aroused tone, "Tell me what you want."

The desperation was burning up her insides as wave after wave of fresh hot desire lay siege to her core. There was a veritable ocean now coating her thighs as her clit continued its desperate pleas, throbbing, begging for something, anything. Her mind was clouded, pleased to drop into that sex ether and relinquish all thought and control, rendering her pliant under his skillful hands and body. She almost came from his words alone, the impact of their meaning coupled with his voice, dark and oozing sex, which she hadn't heard in years, so close to her, the pressure of his body against her and the sturdy wall at her back. He consumed her in this space, his presence engulfed her, she was afloat in him.

Her nerves sung as her body cried out for relief, arched and strained, frantic energy ricocheting around and inside her, clamoring for deliverance.

"Fingers," she exhaled breathily, not quite sure where it came from, but craving the penetration nonetheless.

Without hesitation, two digits plunged into her wet core as Julian used his whole body to pin her against the wall while maintaining direct panty-scorching eye contact, his face mere millimeters away from hers, needing to witness the pleasure he was bestowing upon her now wracked form.

His eyes widened momentarily at the realization that she had foregone panties. She was always finding ways to surprise and disarm him, especially when he least expected it. He decided he would address this later, hopefully, if he had the opportunity to ravage her again.

Nessa panted in ecstasy, ravenous for more, for deeper, for the bliss of the ascension to that hallowed plateau of all-consuming feeling that would carry her tangled nerves over the finish line, as she inhaled his breaths, steadier than her own, but still quickened from the efforts of his fingers now pumping into her at spitfire speed, each thrust delivering fresh shockwaves of ferocious pleasure radiating outward from their source—Julian's now inundated digits, gliding deftly and knowingly inside her, transferring motion and pressure to exactly the right places within her, as her body quivered, legs shaking and threatening to give. Her walls coated themselves anew with each delicious invasion of his fingers, her wetness sliding down her inner thighs now spilling onto the floor in a silvery puddle. Julian glanced down for a moment and caught the pearlescent reflection in the low light. The sleeve of his sequined blazer was damp, drenched in her sweet juices. Azzaro would have to understand.

Looking up, he saw how gone she was, heavy eyelids fluttering in the heat from their combined forms, breath out of control, body lax, submissive, his. A low moan rattled forth from his chest before he even realized it—breaking them both out of their trance. An idea struck him suddenly. She just might kill him, but she would be thanking him later and maybe it would prompt her to leave this godawful venue with him, so he could do the really sinful things he longed to do to her.

It happened in a flash, like the bang of a lone firework on a random day in a major city. His fingers, the ones delivering the searing energy that almost had her combusting—she was so ungodly close and her frantic panting that had turned into shameless low-pitched moaning was evidence of this—those expert magic fingers were harshly withdrawn from what Nessa considered their rightful natural place. Emptiness and the chill of absence in the wake of those frissons of pleasure that were just now coaxing her to her high—now replaced by fissures of unsatisfied need. Those very fingers, the keys to unlocking her transcendence hovered in her peripheral field for a moment before she watched stunned, first into reverent silence, then a deep, throaty moan whose final notes were delivered in a raspy lust laden timbre erupted from her kiss-swollen lips as Julian brought those golden digits into to his mouth and proceeded to lick and suck them clean while simultaneously fixing her with the downright nastiest gaze she had ever been on the receiving end of.

She was ready to pretty much drop to her knees, arousal puddle be damned, and suck his cock like it was her only reason for being, allow him fuck her face, rip her dress off and fuck her roughly over the sink counter in just her heels—anything to resume the friction on any part of her body. To her utter shock, he parted, the door already swinging closed on its hinges, the breeze from its motion brushing against her sweat-dappled skin before she registered the word, delivered in a sexy baritone growl, he had left hanging in his wake now on reverb in her brain as it wafted through the once-charged space, coating her in promise.

"Later."

 


	5. Ritual Spirit

* * *

The unsettling stillness of the air hung around her like a shroud, heavy and void of the volatile charge that had just innervated it moments—or was it eons?—ago. Eerie calmness overtook her, something like the moment before one jumps out of a plane. A strange sense of acceptance, eclipsed by an abiding, filling completeness. Firmly rooted.

She took an apprehensive step towards the white porcelain sink affixed to the dark blue wall directly facing her. Her knees were shaky still and she tread lightly, testing, unsure if she could trust her own body to ferry her safely even to the sink and mirror. With her legs still feeling as if they were composed of 80% jello, these structures might as well have been an entire ocean away. She thought about how she must look, unsteady, sweat-laden, hair mussed, thighs sore and still damp, breath flustered, dress askew, a wanton look in her eye, body reeling, feeling wild from the unreleased sexual tension, the waiting release, raging inside her, riotous and loud-mouthed, crying out in frustration, anguish for his fingers, his body,  _him_ to return and make good on the promise of his last utterance.

His scent lingered in the stillness, a testament to his corporeality, assuring Nessa that what had transpired within the confines of these four walls was real, not a dream or a vision, not something made up, not some desert mirage hallucination meant to trick her. No, the distinct aromas of earth, ash, sweat, and the tiniest tinge of cologne intermingled to excite her nerves, confirming that yes, Julian was just here and yes, he had just pleasured her in this dinky concerthall bathroom at a major awards show, no less.

And yes, he had just left her dripping there sans orgasm like a baby deer, barely able to stand, faculties stunted, and bereft at the loss of its caregiver.

"Like Bambi on speed," she whispered to herself before the absurdity and frustration commingled inside her to finally erupt as deep-bellied laughter rumbling its way through her.

She laughed, heartily and freely, breaking the pervading stillness and bringing stability back to her legs, which now carried her confidently heels clacking across the stone floor to the sink. She washed her hands and cleaned up as best she could before sparing a glance in the mirror. Some futile attempts to smooth out her makeup/hair before she murmured, "Fuck it," to herself and turned on her heel to exit the stage of their latest tryst.

\---

She must have been on autopilot. It was the only explanation for why she suddenly found herself hovering at the periphery of the main event space. Her heart hammered soundly in her chest. She gradually emerged from the haze as the blankness that had filled her mind and guided her seemingly without incident to this threshold gradually receded with each vital thump of her heart. A vague fleeting impression of having moved listlessly back down the corridor flitted through her memory—her spindly legs and willowy frame made to appear even more so as an effect of the rickety stilettos she was now standing firm in as her gaze panned the too-bright auditorium, the lights obscuring and disorienting her momentarily until her line of sight fixed on  _him_.

Grounded, basking in the steadiness of his eyes. They seemed to bore into her and flicker over all her surfaces at once, leaving a tingle on her skin, shimmering and feather-light like the sequins on his blazer. She was floating, amidst the stage lights illuminating the space, graceful and ethereal but oh so present and oh so wanting in his gaze.

As she glided towards those earthen orbs, which tracked her every move in turn, a chorus of thoughts cascaded through her mind reflecting her increasing need.

" _Does he even realize how badly he makes me want it? All I can think about is how he tasted. I didn't even know I could want someone this badly. It's almost embarrassing. Does he understand even one iota of what he does to me? I can't handle not touching him, my fingers ache to feel his skin under them_." And finally, as she took her seat across from her paramour, " _There is nothing you can do to stop me from wanting you."_ That was the scariest of her realizations. It was also the one that snapped her to attention, back to the middle of the VMA's and it delivered her expectant gaze straight to Sam's shell-shocked visage as booming applause echoed through the auditorium.

The hurt and disbelief clouding Sam's usually serene countenance stabbed at her heart. She had caused someone she cared about a great deal of hurt and worse still, she had done so knowingly. A frown creased her dark crimson pout. Her large, animated eyes attempting to convey the apology her voice could not. It overwhelmed her, the look of something much worse than hurt, more grave than mere shock—his pristine lily-white face now held a look of pure and utter betrayal, and they both knew she was the culprit. She forced herself to look away, back towards that grounding reckless gaze that had transported her across the venue's limestone tiles moments earlier.

It wasn't there.

She needed its comfort, the reassurance it transmitted—whether purposefully or supplied by her own imagination. She needed it, to feel it, to be secure in the knowledge that the sword they were dancing on was indeed double-edged, that he was willing to risk it all too for a second chance at this soul-shattering love, all-consuming need, psychic bond between them. She was met instead with an empty chair, followed by thundering applause overriding her auditory circuit—another reason for her avoidance of awards shows. A faint glimmer shone in her periphery. Her head snapped toward the front of the room as Julian dazzled onto the stage accepting a Moon Man for the song that brought her here, Guy Manuel and Thomas speaking after him, mumbling their thanks through their headpieces in their heavy French accents. Julian descended the steps of the stage and bee-lined directly to her, hand outstretched as he came to stand directly adjacent.

Tinny music sounded as the show paused for commercial break, but Nessa barely registered the metallic tones, all her energy fixed on the palm outstretched towards her. She looked up at its owner and was met with a look both questioning and of deep interest, all his emotions concentrated on her, and on the exchange to follow.

"Let's Go."

 


	6. Say my name

* * *

"Okay."

Hot smooth skin met heated roughened skin as her fingers received what they had so craved—Julian's touch. He led her toward the exit rather discreetly, not that there was much need for it as most attendees were milling about or had gone to use the restrooms, taking advantage of the commercial break to stretch their legs and/or relieve themselves.

Two bodies moving in space, forward in time. Each step, two of her own for every one of his, hurling them towards uncertainty. The uncomplicated expanse she once inhabited was fading away as quickly as the auditorium lights at her back. A soon as she stepped across that threshold, it would be gone. The loss was palpable. The relative ease with which she had moved through life post-Julian and pre-these moments would be no more.

She thought they had made it without incident until a cold grasp seized her wrist causing her body to jerk backward, breaking the momentum of her escape. 

"What the fuck are you doing, Ness?" 

Sam's usually placid voice thundered over the din of motion and chattering. Her stomach plummeted. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was cause a scene and have more people's attention on her and Jules. Even though he had forced the question, his tone had softened on the final syllable, her nickname, a note of intimate stillness amidst the cacophonous commotion of the entire situation.

Within the vortex of sinking uncertainty plaguing her gut, she located something else. It emanated from the points where her slender digits entwined with Jules', which, only a handful of moments ago were  _inside her_. Nessa shuddered at the fresh memory. 

The force redoubled, a torrent beckoning her body closer to his own, flooding her core with wanton need and assuaging the doubt still riddling her. Her body felt the strain of this battle, one hand burning, tethered to the man she thought she would never see again, at least in this lifetime, the other frozen, held captive by the man she could not convince herself to marry. 

To give in to Julian's heat, it would not be easy, nor simple, nor comfortable like it was with Sam, but then again, great risk was always the price one had to pay for great reward. The words of the man on the Moroccan mountain echoed through her thoughts. 

Suddenly, the distress paralyzing her limbs and pinning her in place subsided. She turned to face Sam's incorrigible verdant stare. It was indignant and radiating disbelief. Yanking her tiny wrist from his strong hold, she spoke, with a voice echoing that fire currently immolating the fears inside her.

"What I want." She answered his resounding question.

" _He's_  what you want?" Sam pleaded, green eyes alight, beseeching.

"No." 

Hope illuminated his features now, softening the gothic lines of his cheekbones, lightening the heavy bearing of his black brows, relaxing his thin pink lips and releasing the some of the creasing around his eyes. Nessa saw it all, each small change in turn and prepared herself.

"He's what I need."

Having delivered the coup de grâce, she tightened her grip on Julian's hand and took the lead, gently pulling him out of his slack-jawed shock toward the threshold of the exit. Before pushing open the door, she glanced back at Sam, his 6'2" frame stood there still, deflated, a single silvery tear shining its way down the mountains and valleys of his face, a look of indescribable sadness weighing his features, his entire being shrouded in misery. She swallowed, her earthen look projecting apologies towards him. 

The guilt stabbed at her but she was resolute as she stepped through the door, Julian following behind her, grip still tightly fastened, as they made their way down the short corridor and finally through the main doors leading to the street. She felt that grounding hand that had gotten her through the last few moments of pain loosen. Rough sequins grazed her cheek as the solid pressure of Julian's arms ensconced her petite frame, reassuring and loving.

 


	7. Please

* * *

Nessa reclined on the plush leather of the SUV's back seat. Tired and on edge, she slumped slightly, welcoming the seat cushioning's embrace. She had no idea where they were headed. Her nerves had stopped singing about a mile ago, settling now into a dull ache. A low thrum of restiveness hung in her, the result of a chronic lifelong allergy to not knowing. She bid her body to accept the uncertainty. It did so bitingly. She felt her eyes flutter close from the strain. Time slowed and eventually her heart did also. Heaviness filled her head which unconsciously lolled to the side, producing a sensation as if she were falling in slow motion.  _Nessa down the rabbit hole_ , she thought to herself. She continued this downward plunge until she hit ground as her head came to rest gently on Julian's shoulder.

Caught up in his own thoughts, or lack thereof—the present situation was one he hadn't even dared dream about lest he jinx any shot at reclaiming her—he found himself overwhelmed to the point of blankness by the reality of Nessa's gorgeous bronzed form next to him. It was almost zen-like save for the rabid need still gnawing away at him. The unexpected light pressure on his shoulder broke through the veil of scattered energy to ground him. 

Gazing down at her exquisite exhausted body filled him with syrupy pangs of warmth. She was hovering on the edge of sleep. He leaned over, delicately unbuckled her seatbelt, and repositioned her so that her head was now cradled in his lap, her supple form laid out across the the rest of the seat, legs bent at the knee to accommodate the lack of space. She was a glory to behold, perfect, he thought to himself as the frissons of need dueled with the warm frills of adoration. 

While this internal war raged, he took to absentmindedly stroking her features; a light, barely-there touch he was half unaware of even engaging in. Large fingers charted the terrain of her face, gliding lightly over peaks and valleys, eyebrows and cheekbones, her skin ungodly soft under his fingertips. Nessa smiled in her reverie, the light tickle calming her restlessness, allowing her to finally submit to the uncertainty, all her senses narrowed and focused on following his touch as it traced the contours of her sensitive skin, alighting her nerve endings, hungry and receptive as they always were, for the feel of his touch.

He circled a few times around and next to her lips, the anticipation heightening her awareness. She subconsciously counted her breaths, hazily awaiting the moment his digits would make contact with this most tender area. Her lips parted slightly, begging. Finally, after what felt like eons—she swore entire universes were birthed and subsequently withered in this time—but was probably just moments, the lightest of touches glided gracefully along her bottom lip. She exhaled slowly, nerves abuzz from this simple contact. Another slow feather-light swipe along her upper lip followed. Nessa's eyes sprung open with the surprising intensity of feeling this produced. 

Two digits now, middle and forefinger, absentmindedly skimmed both hyper-sensitive lips at once, never completing their journey as Nessa, acting on pure instinct, widened the gap between her lips until his fingers slipped into the slick wetness of her mouth. Julian's eyes opened fully and snapped to hers in shock as she began to suck lightly on his fingers, her face displaying a Lolita-like naiveté with an undercurrent of challenge.

He was hard underneath her. She knew. He could see it in her eyes and how her lips flexed around his fingers as they stretched to accommodate the sly smile now adorning her mouth. She wanted to play. He would humor her, just a little. 

He trailed his other hand tenderly along Nessa's thigh, lightly skimming the radiant flesh. Her breath hitched as the tingles overwhelmed her and goosebumps sprouted in their wake. Trembling beneath him, she gasped as his fingers found their target under her tight dress at the apex of her thighs, soaking yet again with that now familiar achy need. 

Gathering some of the slickness onto his forefinger, he began to stroke her most sensitive part, starting slow and long. She made a guttural noise of contentment as she resumed suction of his fingers, in the somewhat vain hope it might help keep her quiet amidst the twisting surges of deep pressure assaulting her now writhing form. Locking eyes with the man currently laying waste to her insides with mere well-timed flicks of his digits, she rested secure in the knowledge that this was no one-way street. His eyes were wide with astonishment, looking almost incredulous as if he were disbelieving of this moment, of his own agile fingertips sawing slickly back and forth across that engorged stud, the center of both their universes.

Her body throbbed under his attention, nerves ringing all the way from her toes to her crown. She was in overdrive, heightened and blunted, energy thrashing about around and inside her, wanting, begging, pleading for resolution, the kind that would leave her sweetly sore and calm. Her skin was ablaze, muscles taut, threatening to slip out of her control as a violent shudder moved up her spine. Feeling Nessa's acute reaction to what he had initiated as mild teasing broke him from his trance. He loved her like this, on edge for him,  _from_ him, but he knew he could not keep her there long.

"Shhh..." he soothed, rasp still present even at this low volume.

"Julian," she croaked, the strain of her utterance echoing the fatigue of her form.

Julian bent down to deliver a wet, calming kiss to the dampened skin of her forehead, tendrils of his styled shaggy hair raining down upon her frenzied skin. The movement between her legs ceased, and she took a deep, barrel-chested breath in to stop herself from imploding right there on the seat. He shifted slightly upward, but with his lips still millimeters away from her skin, she felt the coolness of his breath fan out across her face as he spoke with an eerie almost transcendent tranquility that radiated solidly, subduing the wild energy of the space.

"We're here."

The vehicle came to an abrupt halt as Nessa shakily hauled herself back to a seated position. Glancing out the window, she saw they were in front of a posh building she assumed to be Julian's hotel. Her passenger door opened and Nessa took one off-kilter five inch stiletto-clad step into the unknown.

 


	8. Release Me

* * *

The door shut abruptly behind her. Her skin prickled all over with the acute awareness of his eyes on her. A strange edginess settled in her stomach, a mixture of the kind of unease one feels peering over the edge of a cliff combined with a delicious anticipation stewing together to create the sharp dark butterflies now whittling away at her gut.

She was surprised Jules hadn't tried anything in the elevator. It unnerved her, the vibrant energy ever present and beating through her like a drum. Standing there perched against the wall of the slowly ascending metal box, lithe form leaning against the bitingly cool metal, she had tried to appear nonchalant in her unsteady heels. She reckoned she had done a piss poor job of it looking slightly disheveled, her hands at a loss for any sort of "natural" positioning. She had thought he might at least spare her the embarrassment and attack her body with his hands, mouth, fingers, perhaps pin her to the wall again and finish what he had started.

But no. He did nothing of the sort, sparing not even a glance in her direction. Those darkened hazel eyes were pitched downwards the entire way, directed towards his shoes but looking so much further. A nebulous pensiveness hung over them and the uncertainty continued to plague her as she stood now in the dim light of the room, the door at her back and Julian's unreadable gaze in front of her. His gaze, the one she had so missed in the elevator, now openly confronted her. She took a deep breath, thinking of what to say—or do—to break this tense moment. Drawing a blank, she stood still, pinned in place by his persistent eyes, which held a strange look somewhere between longing and understanding.

After what felt like eons—or was it just a few moments?—marinating in his gaze, she heard him whisper in the low light.

"You got my message."

Nessa smiled lazily as she felt the strain release all at once like the bolts in a safe cracked open. All was transformed to lightness within her. The heavy things began to float, and she drifted with them, unconstricted, unbounded, and free. A wild licentiousness seized her. The springs of desire burst forth, flowing freely now, energizing her previously depleted body, as she gained confidence from Julian's fierce stare. He looked as if he wanted to devour her, limb by sweet limb, tear her apart from the inside out and then stitch her back together, only to repeat the vicious cycle all over again until she cried out, begging for mercy, whether from the pain or the pleasure, there was no way to be sure.

She subconsciously stood straighter in her heels, producing the effect of elongating her figure. The slight hourglass of her petite body now stretched on full display for Julian's hungry eyes. An unbridled sensation filled her body as she entered the place of no return, relinquishing the fraught battle she had been waging to impose rationality on the chaos brewing inside her. Instinct alone, that most primeval of forces, now guided her. Tuning into her gut, she gave in, ceded control to the expansive giddy reckless light-as-air feeling that now overwhelmed her, nerves all firing in synchrony. 

She had been on edge for what felt like hours now. He had kept her there. She had never been good at waiting. He knew this, and used it to tease her, drawing out her pleasure which was also his own. She was done waiting, could take no more false starts. She needed him. Now.

Julian's irises tracked the movement of her arm as it extended upward and behind her neck, her slim fingers coming to rest on the cool metal delineating the midline of the skintight leather Balmain dress.

The harsh sound of a zipper wrenched brutally downwards pierced the air of the room. Looking directly into his ravenous gaze, Nessa delivered him a matching look equal parts brazen and needy. Her body was singing out for his touch as an incendiary anticipation boiled in her belly. She looked wild, unleashed, her body crying out in agony to feel him around, on, or in her. She'd take anything he was willing to give.

He watched as the dress was mercilessly shrugged off her shoulders in one of the sexiest displays of passion he had ever witnessed. He never really stood a chance, did he? The soft thump of heavy leather fabric hitting the floor between them was all it took before his breath hitched in his dry throat. She stood there before him in all her glory, long legs flexed attractively from the heels, pert breasts out in the cool air, taut skin glimmering, body on edge and waiting. He licked his lips. If he wanted to continue this game, it would have to wait because the message emanating from the lusted-out downright hellishly carnal glare he was now subject to said one thing and one thing alone:  _Fuck me. Now. Hard and fast. You never entertained the idea of this happening again and now here I am. I'm here and I want you, so take me and make it count goddamnit._

Julian's next actions were swift and decisive. His hands moved without hesitation to his belt, almost as if on autopilot. His gaze remained steadfastly fixed on her own, the honeyed irises reflecting the exact same lust-laced need currently eating away at her insides, consuming her marrow, temperamental, roiling and beyond ready for whatever he decided to unleash on her within the confines of these four walls.

The air around them stood completely still, as if in awe of the  charged torrent of sexual energy surging forth from the two bodies. It crackled like whips of lightning, long jagged threads extending from both parties, volatile and formidable. 

The dull thud and metallic ping of Julian's thick leather belt and its silver buckle registered in the half-illuminated space. The harsh sound of a zipper being confidently pulled down sliced through the molecules of air, penetrating the empty space between them and reaching Nessa's ears, which were already pricked at attention with such focus, they probably could have discerned a pin dropping the next room over. Nimble digits slipped the dark onyx button of the blazer through its buttonhole, as he shrugged the shimmering garment off his fit shoulders.  _Has he been working out lately? Damn._  Nessa wondered as she drank in the sight of the now revealed button-down's fabric straining tenuously against the bulk of his biceps. 

The precision with with he approached these actions was driving her to the brink already—fingers fidgeting for a touch and walls already clenching tight around nothing but air, at least for the moment, she hoped. She kept still however, hypnotized by his movements, by the dexterity on display, by the bewitching combination of laxness and control that characterized every twist and turn of his awe-inspiring body. It spoke directly to her core, teasing, titillating as her thirsty eyes imbibed the sight of formidable digits gliding smoothly downwards as they quickly unfastened each tiny black button, one by agonizing one.

Nessa sucked a massive gulp of air in. Her nipples were hard. She didn't bother looking down to see if the puddle of wetness had transformed over the course of the past minutes into a lake. Her thighs were now riverbeds, as the slick translucent evidence of just how turned on she was oozed out of her at an almost inhuman pace. Her hands were shaking. She could not make them stop. The muscles of her core emitted little shockwaves as they constricted in protest, the small waves gradually compounding with the growing desperation of her body's pleas. She felt hot down there, hot everywhere really, hot and tight and wet and wanting. Hell, even a strong breeze flittering gently over the rosy flush of her swollen hypersensitive clit could probably make her come right now.  _It wouldn't take much_ , she considered as her fingertips tingled. She wanted to, but she couldn't, something about watching him undressing—the force and the promise of it held her in place, like a block of marble waiting for its sculptor. 

He shrugged off his shirt allowing the low light in the room to caress his torso in dramatic chiaroscuro, sensually highlighting the movements of tense muscles underneath flushed tawny skin. Bowing at the waist, shiny wisps of medium length mahogany-toned locks fluttering with the movement, two sturdy arms stretched towards his feet. Outstretched fingers pinched black laces and each shoe was removed in turn.  _How can he make something as simple as bending down look so goddamn stylish and alluring?_  Nessa pondered as skintight matte black denim was eased down a pair of endless shapely legs, the fabric terminating its journey on the floor where it came to rest, along with his socks, next to his shiny leather dress shoes.

 Nessa's breath caught as her eyes scanned his nearly-nude form. He rose to his full height as her gaze floated over what seemed like miles of smooth skin with a few tattoos sprinkled along the expanse for good measure. His hardness was visible even in this low light through the black material of his skintight boxer-briefs. She visibly shivered at the sight, her body reacting ferociously as her walls throbbed heavy and desperate, churning the already frenzied pit of desire resting between her thighs even further. Hooking his thumbs into the elastic of his waistband, he fixed her with a look equal parts dark and smoldering, like molten lava bursting through itself. It almost had her wilting to her knees, completely at his mercy. Pulling the final garment down as he stepped towards her, she saw him wet his lips in anticipation of utterly consuming the delicacy that now lay before him—her. His thick cock sprung forth from its textile prison, the rosy tip swollen and glistening in the lamp light, visceral evidence that the events of the last few hours had affected him just as gravely. 

Advancing as he stepped fully out of the last remaining article of clothing that shrouded his lanky form, Nessa gasped as the heat from his body penetrated her atmosphere, bathing her skin in warmth. He was close now, she could hear the sharp inhale of his staccatto breaths. She stared ahead at the soft skin of his neck, not quite face-to-face even with the extra inches from the heels still adorning her feet.

"Only five minutes, Nessa." His velvety voice hovered above her, interrupting her visual exploration of his immaculate dusk-tinged skin. Her eyes snapped upwards to his glowing irises, the gold flecks of their hazel coloring tinkling brightly around large dilated pupils, further kindling the flames incinerating her core that she was increasingly losing hope could ever be extinguished.  _Certainly not in his presence_ , she thought, and  _certainly not when he's naked. Shit._

Her chocolate eyes held confusion as they narrowed after his utterance, searching, with lips parted slightly, through which flowed unsteady labored breaths.

"The bathroom," he clarified, voice slightly lower now, in reverence to their locked eye contact coupled with their proximity. Nessa's look of puzzlement persisted, so consumed was she by the immediacy of his body, that arousing smell of sandalwood and ash that always swathed his form now pervading her senses, tickling, teasing, rendering comprehension moot.

Julian recognized the struggle behind the glazed-over look of those lovely earthen eyes. His lush lips now carried his signature sultry smirk as he inhaled breathily then whispered in the dimness, "Naughty girl, you were supposed to wait eight, you came in five."

 _I hope I come in five._ Her brain supplied this quip haphazardly before understanding dawned. Clarity cut through the haze as her crimson lips mirrored his own in a teasing vermillion smirk. 

"I should punish you, baby-doll."

He looked deeply into her warm cocoa gaze, searching. She shivered under his scrutiny. Taking notice of her jitters seemed to spur him.

"I should..." He paused as Nessa's breath hitched again, eager for his next words.

He leaned in, lips lightly skimming her cheek with the movement. In the faintest and most rasp-laden of whispers, he spoke, "But you look so fucking good, and taste even better."

His words damn near undid her, but she was suddenly taken by the surprise of his steady grasp, firmly securing her thighs as he hoisted her small body into the air pinning her against the wall with her long thin legs encircling his waist, his cock perched precariously close to her gushing entrance, its lips like gatekeepers seizing onto the now ruddy head of his cock, swollen with fiery blood and hypersensitive. He wanted her. Badly. And he could wait no longer.

She felt the divine suction of his lips upon her neck, the skin-to-skin sensation coupled with the reality of his lips finally on her overtook her.

Increasing the pressure of his hips upon her own, and by extension, his cock on her slick lower lips as it sailed on the never-ending silvery stream cascading from inside her, stimulating the swollen sensitive tissue, he felt the flutter of those same lips caressing his shaft. Her legs reflexively locked more tightly around him, squeezing with just enough pressure to hold herself up between the hotel room wall and his body, his hands now free to move to her small soft breasts, lightly tracing the plush semicircles of their undersides before deftly taking each contracted bud of her nipples between his calloused thumb and forefinger, pinching with just enough force to make her moan out from the pleasure of the burn.

Maintaining his assault on these gems, he brought his lips to hover again at her ear, gliding his cock smoothly along her dripping entrance for good measure as he asked, voice heavy and dipped in sultry tones, "Do you want me to fuck you, Nessa?"

The answer was a foregone conclusion, they both knew, but there was power in hearing him ask that wrung at her core and for him, just the thought of her saying it made his cock twitch with possessive anticipation.

"Yes Julian!" She exclaimed in breathless ecstasy, panting at the titillating thought of what was to come—hopefully her! She hissed as he pinched her nipples again with increased pressure, the sting of it counteracted by the sudden presence of his lips on her own, tender flesh melding together, devouring one another, tongues dueling in a wet, hot tango of passion and need. He began to slide against her entrance in earnest now, picking up the pace, starved, skin sizzling, coils of pleasure wound tight working them both into a fervor. Two entangled bodies in a desperate rut, quickly approaching their limits, eager and ready to relinquish the immense strain, to give up, snap, release the powerful tension drawing them thin into the surrounding air.

Nessa abandoned all pretense and moaned loudly with frequency, a fresh cry for each of his frictionless thrusts—delivering intense pressure all along her folds and entrance, exciting the glistening tissues further, pushing her to the very edge of what she could take.

She gasped into his mouth as she felt his arm snake its way between their labored forms, as his large hand took hold of his thick cock and delicately positioned its head at her entrance.

"Look at me, Ness," he choked out, confidence dissipating somewhat with the realization of the moment, its import, its inevitability, its intimacy. 

Nessa's large eyes snapped to his and once again he recognized the power she held over him, her gaze alone could almost undo him right there. Locked in her glassy glare, he took a moment to fully immerse himself, to dive deeply and lovingly into that universe on the other side of those dilated pupils, to swim amongst the stars he saw shining there, perched as he was on the precipice of entering her glorious body, of feeling with his most sensitive part just how much she missed him, craved him, longed for him. Even if she didn't say it, her body spoke, of that he was certain.

The moment of suspended animation allowed Nessa one moment of respite and moderate clarity, slightly less lust-filled than the others. She took a few breaths counting the golden specks in his irises before jogging him from his reverie.

"Julian, please, you're killing me."

Wonderment was replaced by a libidinous narrowing of his eyes and a naughty-looking upturning of his lush pink kiss-swollen lips.

"Please what?" He questioned casually.

Nessa's face steeled into a look of disbelief—at herself for falling so readily into his game, and at him for being cogent enough to play it given their current circumstances.

The teasing always got her though, and she felt her body shake at his question, muscles tightening reflexively to keep her frame locked securely around his own, wanting nothing more than to bear down and take him fully into herself from where the head of his cock lay resting at her entrance. Her current positioning afforded her no such opportunity, however, leaving her further frustrated and prey for his teasing. Her needy walls clenched greedily and in her compromised state, both physically and mentally blocked by his presence, she relented.

"Julian, fuck me, pleas—"

She had no chance to finish her plea as he surged forth until his cock was fully sheathed inside her. The wave of pleasure that coursed through her in its wake was so aggressive, it viscerally shattered her insides as she exploded instantaneously around it. The feeling she had been craving, that heavenly fullness, the very same one he had denied her repeatedly, seized her core which in turn erupted from the exchange of pressure, his cock exerting its sizable mass against her walls which squeezed him like a vice in turn. As the pangs of pleasure continued their slow roll,  _holy shit! Is that liquid?_ Her scattered thoughts struggled to cohere the physical sensation she was experiencing as wetness drenched her thighs.

An epiphany dawned as the exact nature of what she had felt came into view. She had squirted.  _Holy shit._ She had actually come so hard she had somehow forced the glimmering liquid out of herself. Jules, it was Jules, still entrenched to the hilt inside her. He had made her come so hard, she had actually expelled the translucent substance all over her thighs, and looking down, all over his stomach too. 

Shock overcame her still-quaking form, which reeled still from the exquisite thickness of his cock  _still inside her_. Stunned, she slowly followed the acres of smooth umber skin upwards until his severely dumbfounded visage came into view. Soft lips agape, eyes wide, he regarded her, his  _one_ , who never failed to take him by surprise, whether through her words or her body. He could never be fully in control, she would always find a way to totally disarm him when he least expected it. Fuck if it wasn't the hottest thing he had ever experienced.

"Baby-doll," he spoke hoarsely, "did you just squirt for me?" She felt his cock pulse against her walls as he vocalized the question. His amber gaze was playful, but still somewhat disbelieving.

"Uh...huh?" Nessa replied unsteadily, still overwhelmed and on the come down from that insane high.

Dropping to his signature low baritone, the one that had women flinging their undergarments onstage and on their knees when he was off,  he growled, "Momma, that was so fucking hot."

Nessa gave a weak smile, still panting and hyperaware of Julian's cock still buried deep in her pussy.

"Was that your first, baby-girl?" He asked in a fond near-whisper, noticing her keyed up state.

"Uh...huh" It was all she could manage at the moment, at least this time in the declarative.

"Fuck." It was all he could mutter in response. His possessiveness flared up alongside his pride in being the first to bring her this level of pleasure—and beyond he hoped as his attention was brought back to his cock currently being suffocated beyond comprehension by her walls, now ungodly tight post-orgasm, as always, but he knew exactly how to deal with that particular situation.

Planting his large hands on her hips for leverage, he resumed his assault on her mouth with his own, tongue immediately boring its way into the hot cavern between her lips, moving sensually yet aggressively, as it came into contact with her own. His hips moved then, no warm up given, just unrelenting, punishing thrusts hammering his slick, iron-hard cock straight into her, all designed to break through the tightness of her walls, like a battering ram at the castle gates, pounding and pounding and pounding until she opened for him. 

Nessa wailed out at the insane pace, so fast and so thorough and delivering such deep knee-shaking pleasure directly to the place that so sorely needed it, has been needing it since the car ride, since the bathroom rendezvous, since she set eyes on him again at the awards show, since she heard the song, since the moment they parted really.

"So cl...close," she managed to get out amidst a slew of incoherent noises. Every thrust brought her tantalizingly closer to relief, to release, all she wanted was to cross that threshold, and to do so on his cock. He had no intention of stopping, not until he ensured he had ripped another orgasm from her feisty walls. Redoubling his efforts toward that end, he said a silent prayer to all the cardio from his newly formed biking habit to strengthen his stamina so he could achieve his ultimate goal: to absolutely wreck her pussy. Doubling down and putting his back into it, he engaged all the muscles there to assist, rippling under his sweat-dappled skin with the effort. God, she was tight, could take a pounding too and still refuse to yield, to release the tension tied up within, to open to him. But he knew this was a battle that could only be won fighting on multiple fronts and that was a fight he was very skilled at waging.

"Fuck, baby-girl," he gritted out between lighting thrusts, "give in."

Nessa moaned in complete and all-consuming ecstasy, so ungodly close yet the unrelenting tightness in her core was not quite there yet. Julian recognized this, saw it in the way she tensed, in that particular flavor of far-out stare gracing her beautiful shining eyes, in the lessening but still present resistance from her walls. He smirked, ready to deliver the final blows.

"You think I'm done, don't you? Momma, I haven't even gotten my mouth on that tasty pussy of yours yet. You. Just. Wait." He made sure to emphasize the last three words with particularly deep savage thrusts. 

Nessa yelled out, so turned on by his statement, words were no longer options for her. He recognized this too, as organically in tune with her as ever, and continued his verbal assault, dipping to a low teasing lilt, sex dripping from every syllable.

"How good does my cock feel inside of you, Nessa? You like that? I think you do, I think you love it. I think you love it so much, you're going to explode all over it. Aren't you, baby-girl?" Maintaining the breakneck pace of his thrusts, he paused to gather himself, his words affecting him just as much as Nessa. 

"Uh...huh!" Nessa puffed out, surprising herself, sure as she was of her incapability to speak, currently handicapped by the small detail of her former lover's cock resolutely pulverizing her insides, delicious deluges of pleasure absolutely eviscerating her core at exponentially increasing frequencies.

"Fuck yeah, that's it baby, come on my cock."

Nessa's body shook with such violence, she was scared she would shatter right there between Julian and the wall, fragments of her former self scattering at his feet like broken glass. Her vision whited out for a few seconds as she felt the coils snap loose, no longer binding her together, she came apart at the seams, energy and tension feverishly flowing outwards. Her skin felt like it could hardly contain her, she was overflowing, outpouring, seeping out of herself in a syrupy thickness, a great crescendo culminating in her free falling unencumbered onto the lush carpet of the comedown, drifting pleasantly into some netherworld, some plane of existence outside of this one, and comprised entirely of Julian.

Julian, whose voice she vaguely heard echoing somewhere beyond the clouds, calling her name in those lush velveteen tones that wafted gently over her hot skin, soothing, easing, relieving. Somewhere out there rough fingers stroked her sweat-dampened hair. Blinking softly, she came to in his arms, an indulgent smile plastered on his face as he gazed tenderly down at her, this magnificent lustrous scintillating creature he now held securely in his embrace, so perfect and so  _his_.

 


	9. For After

* * *

The next morning found Nessa writhing as Julian's head emerged from between her legs. She had passed out the night before thoroughly exhausted from three successive rounds of lovemaking. Julian had tried for a fourth, but even under his skillful touch, her body still had its limits. It had also been late and she had an obscenely early morning flight to catch. Jules was less than enthused by this news.  _What did he think was going to happen?_  She pondered, wondering the same for herself. No time to dwell on such issues, however, as Julian's tongue snaked deliciously around the furrows and grooves below. 

He looked radiant in the early morning light filtering through the gossamer curtains, almost ethereal, as if he were some divine apparition descended from the heavens to lave languorously away at her already-inundated folds. He was the only person she had been with who derived such pleasure from oral, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull from the pleasure of tasting her. Sam had been a technical master with his tongue, but what little Julian lacked in technical prowess, he more than made up for with sheer enthusiasm. Sometimes she wondered if going down on her brought him more pleasure than it did her if that was at all even possible given the heights that very mouth had delivered her to. 

She sighed breathily into the crisp air as he concentrated his efforts now on her clit, sucking and teasing—his lips forming a vacuum seal around the small nub as she moaned from deep within her throat, the stimulating pressure mounting as he increased the suction before plunging two fingers into her sopped entrance, sliding easily due to the wetness from her own arousal as well as his tongue. Her slender fingers gripped his sweat-matted hair hard as she bucked her hips from the increased sensation, his head mirroring her motion as he maintained the airtight seal of his lips around the sensitive bud.

Nessa sucked in a huge gulp of air, her chest expanding with the effort as his fingers traced upward to find the already pebbled flesh of her nipples, which he proceeded to twist and squeeze, the sensations traveling with fury straight to the pit of her groin.

"Julian," she breathily cried, signaling she was close.

"Uh huh," he croaked back, drawing out the syllables to produce vibrations that travelled from his scratchy throat to the slick tissues currently being mined by that wicked tongue of his.

"Mmmmm," he vocalized again, loving how her body tensed in response. He continued plundering her depths with his tongue, using the powerful muscle to breech her entrance, fucking her while tasting her at the same time. Her hips moved accordingly, meeting each slick thrust as her lower half pivoted off the bed, straining to get more of him inside of her. His hands moved to hold her bottom half up, fingers wrapping around her protruding hip bones and digging firmly into the flesh of her ass, gripping tightly, securely and with purpose. Her back arched in a motion so graceful, it was frankly poetic to watch. Her small hands released the death grip on his locks to cover his own in a clenching grip that allowed her the leverage to fully fuck his face, lost to the pleasure his mouth was delivering to her heated form. Would she ever get enough of this man? His body? His wit? 

All answers were lost to the searing inferno of a climax she succumbed to shortly thereafter. It was exhausting, depleting but still so deliciously sweet as she ascended with the high, floating on the cresting wave of her release until the dams broke open, were broken open really by his surging insistent tongue absolutely murdering her insides with pleasure. He had wrecked her pussy all right, she was ruined for anyone else after this.  _There won't be anyone else_. The thought reverberated dimly in her mind, obfuscated by the haze upon which she drifted, like a down feather caught in a light breeze, slowly making her way back down to the hotel bed. 

Julian wiped his glistening mouth with his forearm as he watched her careful descent. He knew this would be his last chance to taste her today and he had wanted it from the source. He loved eating her out, using the instruments of his trade to make her come all over his face. He relished giving her that power, over his most valuable asset, allowing her to fuck herself on his tongue while he sampled her. It had been so long since he had tasted her, he wasn't sure he'd be able to do without it again.

Nessa sighed as her big brown eyes met his, shimmering with satisfaction as well as a sea of unasked questions. Julian saw them there, each one a potential fault line carrying the possibility of shattering what they had just spent an entire night working towards. He wanted desperately to shoo them away, tell them they didn't need answers because by some divine miracle, Nessa was back in his life and he had absolutely no intention of letting her go this time around, no matter how difficult the answers to those pesky questions might be. 

He sighed, leaning over to brush a few wily strands of her hair from her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered from the light touch.

"You know, if you don't stop that, I'm never letting you leave this room," he stated authoritatively feigning control when had none—he would honestly let her do whatever she wanted, so hopelessly under her spell he was. 

"Do what?" Nessa asked, confused.

"Everything," he breathily replied before leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her stained, bruised lips. He ignored the twitch from his cock as he imagined painting them with his come. His attempts to deepen the kiss were rebuffed as Nessa smiled into the dewy touch of his tongue teasing her tender lower lip. He wanted in. She, unfortunately, needed out to catch her flight. She knew all to well Julian's disdain for schedules, especially if there were more pleasurable alternatives available. However, as she was flying with Karma, she had been able to commission the family jet. She had to be on time—there was no 'booking a later flight' option and they would risk losing their pre-approved flight plan. 

She captured his embattled lower lip in between her teeth and gave it a light tug as a foil for disengaging their lips. Julian sighed in resignation, thinking up all the playful ways he could kidnap her and all the sexy was he might try to keep her in this room. He wasn't naive enough to think she would run off with him, even after some grade A sexing, but he honestly hadn't thought much past each successive orgasm—so thoroughly unprepared for this possibility was he. He combed his fingers through her soft tresses as she rose, naked and bare before his still-hungry eyes. He could never be sated when it came to Nessa, would be perfectly content partaking of her ad infinitum if she let him and he suspected she was aware of this as she scurried out of his reach, her long locks filtering through his fingers, leaving a silky tingle in their wake. 

She dressed almost as quickly as she had undressed, much to his chagrin.  _Damn that dress. But also, goddamn that dress_ , he thought to himself, unable to settle his feelings on the garment. She gave him a warm, playful smile as she caught sight of his indolent pout. It made him look so young with his scattered locks framing his face in the early morning light. 

"I've gotta go Jules, my flight—"

"I know," he cut her off, an underlying petulance in his tone.

"I'm sorry...I really am." She reached down to slip on her heels. Jules' cock twitched again, sending a pleasurable jolt through his body at the sight.

"Me too," he stated forlornly.

She frowned, the urgency of her exit growing with each passing second yet she stood there still, facing his disappointed stare, unsure of what to say, grasping for anything to bridge this chasm now growing between them so she could leave. 

"I'll see you." And she was gone.

 


	10. Unknown Tongues

* * *

The harsh sound of the door swinging closed assaulted Julian's ears. He was awash in its reverberations, which bluntly moved through him like an ice bath. Small waves of shock and more despairingly, a barren emptiness, erupted in various parts of him. His body sagged, deflated, the delirium from the insomnia wearing off.

 _What just happened?_ He pondered.It felt so surreal, was it a dream? Perhaps it was. A dream fueled by his all-consuming need for her. He could wake up at any moment, but would a reality without her back in his life be any more welcome than one night of bodies melding pleasurably together only for her to leave again, allowing the cloying uncertainty to settle in her wake?

He knew Nessa and the more time away she spent, the more she would think—doubt, more specifically—widening the chasm she had created. The more weight she would give to the concerns of others, especially her loved ones who likely still hated him, hated what he brought out in her, and were particularly adept at grudge holding.

No, he could not allow them to influence her again, he had to get to her soon, mitigate the damage, touch her and close the gap, remind her of his certainty in a world of unknowns. He needed to remind her what it feels like to be free, to just be, to feel and to act without worry about trivial concepts like propriety. He just wanted her to be, to feel confident in being and to feel confident in being with him.

He could, would do better this time. He had self-possession now, a more defined moral center to ground and guide him, instead of alcohol. He had stopped running from the pain, had faced it head on, prepared for it to utterly annihilate him, but to his surprise, it hadn't ripped him apart, it had fortified him, strengthened him, made him hardy. He was so much better equipped to "person" responsibly. He felt more resolved, more in touch with himself and the world, and he knew, always knew, his own heart. It lay with her, if only she was aware.

He had tried to show it last night (and this morning) with his body. But he realized now in this strange moment of deep revelation that she needed words. He was well aware of her responsiveness to language, had figured it had to do with the fact that she spoke so many—but now it dawned upon him that it was her primary mode of making meaning, and he would need to use his tongue in new ways to reach her. He licked his lower lip as he felt the tension drain from his body and exhaustion take over. He allowed his sleep-deprived eyes to droop close, succumbing to a solid, dreamless sleep.

\---

Nessa took a heavy step onto the tarmac. She had spent the car ride to the L.A. house dreading this very moment. Studiously avoiding thought, she preoccupied herself with the hasty gathering of her things, the frantic flinging on of a pair of leather skinny jeans and an asymmetric tank over which she haphazardly threw on an intimidating looking Rick Owens jacket—her "airport armor." She looked up warily at the jet and released a tight breath before lumbering across the asphalt and carefully ascending the aluminum steps leading into the belly of the beast.

Karma's kind eyes greeted her inside, holding a sea of questions within their depths, questions that she did not have the answers to, that she hadn't bothered to ask for fear of their answers. She sat stiffly in the leather seat, its soft cushioning immediately calling forth memories of the naughty car ride and the even naughtier night that followed.  _That was last night_ , she reminded herself grimly. It wasn't regret so much that she was feeling, but a forlorn wistfulness—and a general sense of uneasiness stemming from the uncertainty of how to proceed.

She prided herself on being decisive, but Julian was a Gordian knot she didn't even know where to start trying to untangle.  _I know where his dick stands, but not his heart_ , she admitted painfully in her head, never one to hide from the blunt truth, or its dark humor. She had long ago discovered it was far better to confront difficult truths baldly and move on to the actual dealing with it than run or try to avoid it. Her facial muscles winced in response to her thoughts about this 'shituation', as she had deemed it in her head, due just as much to his failings as her own.

Karma must have seen this flash of discomfort in her features, as she turned towards her computer open on the seat tray in front of her, allowing Nessa a respite before the inevitable inquisition. Snapping her seatbelt on, Nessa found herself dozing off as the plane rumbled towards the runway and New York City.

\---

Nessa was halfway through reading and annotating the second acquisitions proposal for the museum her family had founded and sponsored, when the first email came through. A jolt of panic shot through her seeing the unread message from her Uncle Ravi sitting listlessly in her inbox. It had no subject and upon her shaky click opening the missive, she was surprised to find a picture not of her and Julian, but instead of her and Sam from the red carpet yesterday. It felt like ages ago now, so much having transpired since then.  _So much but so little at the same time_ , her brain unpleasantly reminded her. Shrugging off the unwelcome thought, her eyes traveled to Ravi's message underneath the image. It consisted solely of a single question mark, eliciting a small smile from her. Terse as always she recalled.

Maybe there was a chance she wouldn't have to answer to him about Julian. Perhaps he would not find out just yet and she would have a chance to actually find out the answers to the questions he was sure to ask. Maybe Fate in all its fickleness would grant her a pass allowing her to skip the third degree she was growing ever more anxious to face. Nessa's optimism lasted through the reading of about one more proposal before another ping blared, alerting her to another message in her inbox from Ravi, this time containing a forward from Liz of the seating chart for her table clearly displaying "J. Casablancas" opposite her name. The message underneath this time was equally terse and reignited the fear that Nessa had almost convinced herself could be allayed. It was a single word: "Explain." She sighed heavily at her screen, attracting Karma's attention from across the aisle.

"Lemme guess, ominous email?" She questioned her elder leather-clad cousin with a hint of amusement.

"How'd you know?" Nessa wearily dragged her gaze to Karma's face, which now held a knowing smirk.

"It was either that or a vague voicemail—he hasn't innovated much since you were last on his shit list." Nessa flinched at the memory of just how high on that list she was post-Julian.

"And you usually are these days?"

"At least once a month. You'll thank me later for all the insider knowledge I'm about to drop on you."

Nessa looked circumspect, then vaguely worried.

"I just hope he doesn't tell mom."

"He won't bother her or anyone else with it if he thinks he can handle it himself."

"Ugh, you're right. We're more alike than I give us credit for, him and I."

"I know," Karma feigned exasperation with a joking smile, then continued, "So, what actually happened after you and Jules left the venue last night that was bad enough to warrant the dreaded email of disapproval?"

Nessa gazed out the window of the airplane, looking pensively at the miniature landmasses below.

"Legitimately nothing. We went back to his..." Trailing off, she caught herself before clearing her throat and turning her attention back to her über interested cousin, who had probably been dying to ask this question since she boarded.

"He got hold of the seating chart from Liz."

Karma's jaw dropped, "That bitch!"

Nessa smiled, "You have no idea."

They chuckled together before Karma continued, cautious, "So what are you going to do?"

Nessa's laughter died down as she considered for a moment. There was really only one viable course of action here, annoying as it would be, it was the only option.

She turned to face Karma once more and spoke with certainty, "Stall. And if that fails, stall harder."

Karma snorted, then launched into a fit of cackles as Nessa mumbled to herself, "At least until I can see him again," before rolling her eyes playfully at her cousin, sparing a few more precious minutes to tease her about her modeling—or refusal to do so—before focusing her attention back on her work, with her thoughts occasionally straying to Julian and fevered flashes of last night.


	11. NY is killing me

* * *

Nessa huffed as she swerved her suitcase into the space beside the apartment door. Grasping the cool metal of the headphones perched on her head, she absentmindedly relocated them to drape stoically around her neck while craning her head to the second level of the SoHo duplex, ears pricked on high alert for any visual or auditory signal of Ravi's presence.

"All quiet on the Western Front," she chuckled to herself, the sound piercing the tranquil space, setting her on edge as she winced slightly.

A resounding emptiness seized her. She felt ill-prepared for the talk she knew would come, not ready to bullshit her way through it but lacking any kind of clarity on what to do instead. Exhaling, she made her way to the kitchen island directly to the right of the entry to get a glass of water and mull over her dilemma further.

As the cool liquid slipped down her throat, a figure emerged from the study to her right. It was Ravi, tall and handsome with refined features much like her own but sturdier, cell phone glued to his ear as usual. Nessa snorted.  _Will he ever put that thing down?_  The thought flitted through her mind as she took another sip from the glass, eyes glued to the form before her now muttering harshly into the phone.

"I don't care if she thinks it's too soon, the album release is highly anticipated. Any later and she'll be competing with Rihanna! Rihanna! She's strong but the market is in RiRi's favor right now and her sales and touring will suffer. Listen, I'm not trying to be the bad guy here, I just want her to be successful and reach as wide an audience as possible. The new tracks are great, they deserve to be heard..."

Nessa smiled, her uncle was tough but fair—for the most part. It was something she had always admired about him and it also suited him well in his newish role as V.P. of Roc Nation's recording arm—a position he had acquired after bouncing around Columbia records for a few years and earning the respect of his artists and Jay-Z for the way he was able to balance commercial and creative needs.

"Okay, you'll talk to her then? Thanks Irv, keep me posted."

Hanging up the phone, Ravi exhaled a deep sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose before dropping his arm and turning his attention to his niece who was eyeing him wearily through the glass of water she was currently downing.

"How was the flight?" He questioned evenly, giving nothing away.

Nessa put down the glass, the soft clink of it on the marble countertop sounding abrasive to her ears in the silent interlude. She inhaled as much as she could, wishing her lungs were endless so she could draw this moment out and not have to engage his line of inquiry. Alas, her lungs, like this moment, had finite limits.

Exhaling violently with a whoosh, she answered tentatively, "Uneventful."

Ravi had noticed her hesitation, which he took as an indication that things were indeed as grave as he had been fearing.

"Unlike the VMA's?" The questioned lingered in the air like a stale odor as Nessa felt her insides constrict sharply with tension followed by a surge of gripping fear that almost took her breath away as she registered Ravi's hard stare.

She was prepared for it to be bad, but this was going to be brutal. It would rip her to shreds, she felt it in her gut and subconsciously braced herself for a battle she knew she had already lost, but was obliged to go through the motions of fighting anyway.

"It was an interesting night." She decided to be vague. It would provoke him and that was fine, she just needed to displace some of the icy shards penetrating her belly, even if it meant a harsher rebuke from Ravi.

"Nessa, I'm warning you," he spoke sternly with force, "don't play word games with me. You know exactly what I'm referring to." He paused, allowing a deafening silence to settle between them.

She stared hard, unabashed, feeling the burgeoning tingles of tears tightly tickling her tear ducts. She strained against them, hoping the ferocity of her gaze would dissuade him but Ravi had known her since she was a baby, hell, he had helped raise her, and the prolonged exposure had rendered him immune to those fiery brown eyes.

He continued casually with a hint of spite, "You're lucky we were able to contain the gossip about you two."

It was not lost on Nessa that Ravi couldn't even bring himself to say Julian's name.

"Can't say the same about the photos of you and Sam from the red carpet, but those were not dire. Nessa, look at me!" He thundered when she turned her head to the side, hoping to tense enough to contain the heavy tears now forming in the corners of her swollen eyes. Her head snapped back around, desolate gaze now locked with his malevolent piercing glare as he continued, his voice now booming through the stillness of the apartment, "What the fuck were you thinking?!?"

Nessa broke. The dam of watery shame burst forth and the salty drops rolled down her face one after the other, shining against her skin. The chill from the trails of liquid alerted her emotions that the white flag of surrender had been raised, she had lost the battle, and composure was no longer necessary for a show of strength. She crumbled inside.

"I wasn't!" She yelled, sobbing hoarsely as the gushing teary streams now raged down the golden orbs of her cheeks, following the contour of her chin until they reached its midpoint from which they dripped at an increasingly desperate rate onto the marble countertop beneath her.  She didn't dare look down at them.

"Containing" gossip meant paying off an agency and it was never, ever cheap. It wasn't something that had to be done for Nessa since...more tears rolled down her cheeks, fat soupy pathetic globules of salty liquid that burned the cracks in her lips and left an acrid taste on her tongue, as she remembered the last time her family had to step in with wads of cash to "contain" damaging information.

It was in the form of pictures. Pictures taken by the driver of the car that had found them, likely the lucky person who had happened down that once innocent stretch of asphalt that was usually practically abandoned at that time of night. It was a woman, she recalled, still able to hear the shriek of abject terror released from the lady's gaping mouth at the sight of the other car and its driver—or what was left of him at that point.

Nessa shuddered at the memory, at the pain of remembering and at the memory of the pain. She was semi-conscious when the ambulance had arrived, but they quickly sedated her. Her last memory of that dark road was a flash of sparks as the jaws of life bit ruthlessly into the car's mangled metal frame that the collision had morphed into a cage, pinioning the driver's bloody body in place. Jules was unconscious, but came to with minor bruising a day or so later. He had been driving. They were both drunk. And high. It was, by far, the stupidest decision Nessa had ever made.

The woman who had found them took photos and the press was absolutely ravenous for the images. It cost Rav a pretty penny and a small army of lawyers to prevent them from being published for the world to see. The victim's family had been so grateful, they had agreed not to press charges in lieu of Julian going to rehab, which he stubbornly refused until Nessa and the lawyer army convinced him. It wound up being a successful stint too, by all accounts.

Nessa, on the other hand, was required to repay her family's efforts by breaking up with Julian posthaste, agreeing to avoid contact with him indefinitely and entering rehab herself, which she fought vehemently against. She ended up crashing with Oli, who at the time was the newly-minted head of Balmain, until the media frenzy blew over and the tabloids moved on to the next salacious scandal to satisfy their sordid readership. That horrible time became known  in her circle as "the incident" and although the driver they hit survived, barely, and with several chronic lifelong injuries Nessa's family had agreed to pay for on an ongoing basis, it was an unspoken rule that you did not bring it up unless absolutely necessary and even then, only if you really couldn't avoid it, and even then, it was best you duck and cover afterwards.

The tears rolled freely unbound now as the memories replayed behind her eyelids, like a sick highlights reel, each frame stabbing at her heart and wringing her stomach.

Ravi blinked, appraising her current condition, and decided to get right to the heart of the matter, sensing she could take little more.

He continued in a tender, more subdued tone, "What is going on with you and Julian, Ness?"

Stunned by Ravi's utterance of  _his_  name, Nessa snapped out of her painful recollection.

"Nothing," she lied through her teeth, "we hugged, nothing more."

She wiped a few stray tears before continuing, gathering strength from Ravi's neutral expression, "Sam wanted to reconnect, I said no, Julian happened to overhear and he comforted me with a friendly hug. We spoke afterwards, cleared the air and then went our separate ways." She took another breath, the tears letting up as she continued more assuredly.

"It's been long enough we've had to go to ridiculous lengths to keep a wide berth. I wanted to end it and asked Liz to be seated at his table so I could speak with him and move forward in a healthier way, without the need to constantly double check attendee lists for every gathering, dinner, or event just to go out of my way to avoid him. I mean seriously, Ravi, we're adults here, it's ridiculous to proceed in this fashion after all these years."

Nessa masked her face with a veil of strength and what she hoped looked like raw honesty. She had no idea where the elaborate fabrication she had just spewed forth came from, but she had to give herself credit—it was definitely believable.

Ravi approached the other side of the marble island, weighing the explanation and scrutinizing her face. He could tell she was hiding something but her explanation fit her typical style of action—unilateral and efficient once she had decided something was in her best interest. Whatever she was hiding was likely small and Sam-related. He wouldn't pry. Her relationship with Sam was complicated enough as it was especially after she had called the engagement off. He would let her work that one out on her own.

Sam was a good man, dear to the family, and would never willfully hurt her or allow her to make a potentially harmful decision if he could help it. Plus, he despised Julian almost as much as Ravi did. Nothing that scandalous could have happened if he was there. Ravi opened his mouth to speak, witnessing Nessa's veneer crack just slightly and hesitating before deciding it was probably just the stress of the flight and continuing, "I understand. Would have appreciated it if you had run this by us first, if only so we could be on alert for negative press. You know it affects the family's image."

Nessa frowned, eyes still radiating a hint of defiance.

Ravi smiled at this, "But I know you and sometimes you're brash, especially if you feel coddled or hamstrung. Just next time, check in with me first, okay sweetie?"

Nessa hung onto that nickname like a flotation device. It meant he bought it. She was in the clear—for now.

"Okay," she replied evenly with a half-forced smile as she moved around the island to descend into Ravi's outstretched arms.

"I'm off now Ness, taking the jet to London," he muttered into her hair. She smiled, relieved for the prospect of the duplex all to herself.

"Okay," she whispered in response as she disengaged the embrace and watched as Ravi disappeared into the study only to re-emerge with a suitcase. Rolling the luggage behind him, he made his way to the door, Nessa's pupils tracking his movements. As his hand stretched towards the silver doorknob, he paused, turning to face her once again before speaking, "And I don't think your mother needs to hear about this, for now. Let's make sure to keep it that way, alright?" Nessa nodded dumbly, shot through by the pre-emptive raging fear of that possibility coming to light, which she had neglected to consider amidst the emotional turmoil of the last half hour.

"Alright then, bye."  
  



	12. Chasing Time

* * *

"Bye," Nessa mouthed, not sure if her lips were just forming the word out of habit or if she had actually pronounced it, if the sound had really issued forth from her quaking vocal chords. Her whole body felt tired, sore from the sex, worn from the time difference, stiff from the plane ride, strained from the lack of sleep. As the door closed, she was once again left alone in the cavernous duplex with only her thoughts for company. 

Instead of the relief she longed for, she was left feeling a deep, penetrating emptiness, the weight of her lies, the unacceptableness of her true desires, and the uncertainty of her future happiness all filling the residence with a severe chill, causing goosebumps to sprout across her skin and a ringing hollowness to fill her body. She stood alone, facing the void of her own creation, the pit of lies and uncertainties she was growing more and more unsure were worth the pain. 

***

Getting off the phone with Karma after filling her in on the details of the talk with Rav, Nessa was assured they could keep their stories straight. She did not relish asking Karma to lie but damned if she hadn't done the same for her cousin on numerous occasions. Karma had a taste for musicians of the moment, and this landed her hot water more often than not. Nessa was happy to do it, for love—or lust. Whatever. Her younger cousin should be free to explore and fuck up and learn without the overbearing family placing arbitrary sexist restrictions on her. Nessa was more than happy to facilitate rebellion against "patriarchal nonsense" as she had termed it. 

The phone call was followed by another, unexpected, from her musical mentor Bogdan. He had been invited to do a DJ set at a club called The Good Room the following night and he wanted her to do a joint set with him. She agreed almost instantly, needing the distraction and also grateful for the opportunity to catch up with the illusive Czech maestro she had bonded with and learned from in Japan where she had fled to instead of rehab after "the incident." Bogdan had confirmed it with the venue and her name was officially on the roster. 

She made a few more phone calls while unpacking—to her parents checking in, to Oli catching him up on the various events that transpired in and on his dress. She had set it aside for dry cleaning and also wanted to confirm with him that she could return it to the NYC atelier, which he said was, of course, no problem. He was sad to have to miss her set, but she didn't mind, kind of preferred it actually as it had been a couple months since her last gig and she hadn't had much time to practice, although she had found some new gems, thanks to her ever-present headphones. 

She was nervous still, as any live performance had a certain level of unpredictability associated—and she had experienced it all, from equipment failure to amorous drunkards attempting to grope her across the DJ booth. She just hoped this one would go smoothly so she could lose herself in the music, the energy of the crowd, the rhythm of the night, a wild feeling she liked to call the "Insomniac's Delight." It allowed her to float free, float beyond herself and respond to the dance floor, curate the music based on a delicate interplay of her mood, the audience's mood, and her understanding of the groove. She could take them on a journey they themselves guided her to and in that magical exchange, she could become more than herself, rise above her troubles and surrender to the sounds. 

She was looking forward to tomorrow evening even with the nerves present in equal measure. Regardless of how it went, it would be a respite from thoughts of Julian, and a chance to reconnect with herself via one of her passions—music. 

***

Nessa glanced in the mirror a final time before leaving for the gig. She had a long established tradition of wearing corsets when DJing and tonight was no exception. She donned a studded bustier, the studding cooly confined to the cups of the garment, lending a punk edge to her overall look. She had decided to pair the shining top with an equally tough-but-pretty pleated leather skirt, secured tightly around the petite waist of her hourglass figure, giving her a schoolgirl with an edge vibe she liked. It reminded her of a Tarantino villain or something similar, kickass with a touch of naiveté. 

Her long locks were gathered neatly in to a bun atop her dainty head. She had done this purposely, hating when the strands would fall in her way when she bent down at the controls in the both. Keeping them out of the various knobs, levers and dials as well as from sticking to her sweat-dappled face was paramount, she had learned after a few annoying nights picking and swiping away the wayward tendrils. It was winter in the city—one of those snowless nights with a bone-blasting wind chill, the insidious kind that lay dormant until you turned the corner. Nessa shivered just thinking about it, grateful that she would be taking a cab, but not grateful that her cigarette breaks would have to take place in this body-numbing environ. 

She was absolute shit at dressing for the weather and this was proven yet again by her decision to forgo tights, and instead opt for thigh-high socks to pad her similarly thigh-high Rick Owens boots—a pair slim enough to hug her tiny calves like a second skin.  _A second leather skin_ , she chuckled as she thought of the smooth leather material engulfing her as if it were indeed her own skin. She knew she'd be feeling the sting of the cold biting away at the band of warm sandy-toned skin left exposed between the top of the boots and the bottom of the short leather skirt. 

"For fashion!" She said to herself, downing the small shot of brandy she had poured to prepare for the cold. She was also hoping it might settle some of her nerves. Shrugging on her heavy black wool coat while double-checking she had all of her equipment in the hard black rolling case she pulled behind her somewhat unsteadily, she sauntered out the door, down the elevator and into the brutally cold New York night.

 


	13. Fuck You DJ

* * *

It was weird seeing Bogdan again. Weirder than it usually was seeing him. They were so close once, sharing a tiny Tokyo apartment together while Nessa channeled her feelings of heartbreak into the most aggressive beats Bogdan could help her summon from the analog synthesizers littering the space. He had taught her everything, from how to program the unwieldy hunks of metal to turntablism itself—the arcane art of DJing with old school turntables and vinyl records.

She gained respect as Bogdan's protégé, honing her skills while getting uproariously drunk to numb the pain enough to continue. Bogdan was a weird dude, that was part of his charm, and his caché; a Czech braindance synth nerd who made great tunes. Everyone was amused to see the tiny girl next to him in the booth, the odd duo cranking out breakneck rhythms easy to get lost in, to spend entire nights getting lost in.

They had also made out once drunkenly. It was just as awkward as Bogdan was and fueled more by the intimacy of an unhealthy codependence than legitimate lust of any kind. Nothing had come of it but it did alter their relationship, breaking open the dams of propriety and allowing Bogdan to feel comfortable flirting with her in jest. It was something Nessa would reciprocate in those days, a nice distraction from the tyranny of her own heart, which refused to release  _him_  from its clenching grasp, even though they both knew it would be better if she did.

She hadn't seen the Czech man-wonder since she left Tokyo, and save for the occasional text or email sharing music or hardware, they hadn't really kept in touch. That was Bogdan's M.O.—a musical nomad with friends everywhere, all made during brief but intense periods of debauchery and with whom he could pick up right where he left off without incident when he was in town. Nessa was similar but began to find it more tiresome as she got older, craving stability but also terrified of the stagnation that accompanied it. She needed some kind of controlled chaos, the best of both worlds, but what that would actually look like, she could never quite solidify.

She stood behind Bogdan in the booth, bobbing along to the intense beats as she readied the equipment for her set. Amidst double checking the various wire connections, slider levels and settings, she felt a sudden pressure as Bogdan leaned backwards into her, his head and fingers still tuned on the knobs of the apparatus producing the sounds in front of him. She smiled deeply, genuinely amused at his cheekiness, and ran her fingers fondly over his buzzcut in response. She could see the side of his lips upturned into a smirk as he turned his head in her direction to adjust a knob.

He removed his headphones, his torso twisting around to her as she tilted forward, close enough to his face so she could hear what he was saying more clearly through the syncopated pounding drum beats filling the space. Instead of speech, she felt a wet sensation as a pair of lips came into contact with her cheek. She smacked his arm playfully while rolling her eyes. Bogdan, the little shit that he was, smiled saucily before indicating to her that his set was ending so she could go on. They transitioned seamlessly, with practiced efficiency. Nessa began to play, preserving the tempo but adding in a hearty dose of bass, her favorite. She loved it when you could feel its reverberations pulsating around the hollows of your body and she aimed to deliver exactly that to her audience.

She found herself getting lost in the groove, delivering banger after banger, skillfully mixing and splicing them together, tuning out some elements while bringing others forward, tying it all together with that deep abiding bass that consumed the room, ate up everything and everyone in its path, ravished them brashly and then dissipated into the atmosphere, before she deployed another wave of it to crash against the packed dance floor once more. The audience loved it and Nessa entered a trance-like state of total concentration, completely absorbed by what she was doing. Time slowed and she wasn't sure how much of it had passed before a prickling feeling passed through her, prompting her to glance up directly into a pair of magnetic dark sandy-brown eyes fixated firmly on her.

She audibly gasped.  _WTF was he doing here?_  She didn't have much time to mull it over, however, as she had to return her focus to the ministrations of her frenzied hands on the cool plastic knobs of the mixer. She would be lying if she said his presence did not excite her a little, her traitorous body responding to this insight by tensing as her lower half clenched pleasurably, the wetness already making itself known between her leather-clad thighs. She tried to ignore it. She failed.

As she was finishing up her set, she decided to express her frustration sonically, and maybe tease him a little in the process. Selecting a bouncy track with the lyrics, "I just wanna fuck" looped throughout, she peered up, fixing the tall figure with a playful stare and a devilish smirk as he stared back in shock, hovering at the periphery of the dance floor. Bogdan swung his arm around her neck while bopping along to the beat, whispering in her ear that the next DJ was ready to go. She was certain it looked way more intimate than it was and her head snapped to the dance floor looking to assess the potential damage. Stunned, she recoiled slightly as she found herself met with a void in place of the steely eyes that once inhabited that area of the space.

Confused, she panned around the room but he was nowhere to be found.  _Was he even really here?_  Nessa wondered. Removing the headphones from where they were clenched tightly around her skull, she exhaled deeply before turning to Bogdan with an exhausted smile while moving the metal headgear to her neck. The ear cups clanged slightly together as she bent down to begin unplugging her equipment, going through the familiar motions while questioning internally whether she had seen an apparition conjured by her own uncontrollable desire.

***

Finishing the plastic cup of water she solicited from the overly flirtatious bartender, Nessa grabbed the handle of the rolling case that held her equipment and weaved through the crowded club towards the small corridor where band equipment was stored behind the area of the DJ booth. Opening the heavy door, she strolled into the dim space walking a crooked path between heavy-duty touring crates of various sizes, stacked one atop the other and containing, she imagined, all manner of instruments.

As the door swung closed on its hinges, the thumping rhythms of the DJ currently on the decks died down, causing Nessa to pause somewhere close to the end of the corridor, closing her eyes and reveling in the respite this sanctum afforded her before she would have to go out there and accept more congratulations in addition to attempts at small talk from the club-goers. It was only polite to stay for the other DJ sets—she wanted to hear them, certainly, but despised the artificial conversations she would have to suffer through to do so.

"Great set."

The even tones of the statement rung out in the muted space. Nessa jumped in surprise. Startled, her large eyes narrowed to slits as she strained her vision in the low light attempting to locate the source of the utterance.

Taking a couple small, quiet steps forward, toes first, she discerned a lanky figure seated casually on one of the sturdy black equipment cases, mile-long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, torso leaning back, braced upon taut extended arms, head downturned, staring at his shoes—a ratty pair of converse she would recognize anywhere. Nessa gasped in recognition as the figure's head turned upward towards her and blazing deep honey eyes melted into her own, causing her to gasp again in shock as her body began its now-familiar machinations; the tight, violent upheavals of potent sexual energy beginning their tedious rolls through her stomach and core.

She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her—like the very first time she had laid eyes upon him at the concert all those years ago.

"Julian?" She squinted in the darkness, not quite believing the image her eyes presented her with as she took a few more weary steps towards the lax form. 

The door to the corridor briefly opened as the babbling chorus of voices from outside filled the narrow space and a silvery beam of light cut across the equipment cases and his cheekbones. As abruptly as it opened, the door was slammed shut again, the harsh sound causing the figure to recoil slightly. Nessa frowned. 

"Julian," she stated evenly, "Wha—"

He cut her off as abruptly as the doorslam, "Oli told me. I caught the next flight out."

"I see," Nessa responded, eyes narrowed and looking somewhere beyond his handsome face, taking in the new information. 

"Do you?" The intensity of his lowered tone cut through her processing gaze, and her earthen pupils snapped to his dark beseeching ones. 

Mired in the aura of his unexpected presence, she felt dumb. The sheer volume of feeling erupting from within her was too much to physically bear. She found herself puzzling over his cryptic statement as his words dripped from her lips, as if repeating them would somehow unlock their meaning. 

"Do you..." She trailed off, body subconsciously pulled closer into his orbit as she found herself drifting lightly towards his still-seated form. He leaned forward now, hands resting on his thighs as his head tilted backwards to maintain the smoldering eye contact. Nessa swallowed visibly as he licked his bottom lip. 

"Hmmm," he vocalized, taking time to formulate his response. Glancing briefly at the studs glittering on the cups of her corset, his eyes returned to hers with a fierce newfound hunger in them, the kind that could make her drop to her knees and beg for his touch. She was acutely aware of his proximity, unsure of how she had drifted so close to him, as she stood to her full height, knees almost touching his own.

"What I see is a gorgeous woman standing in front of me," he spoke lowly, so that she had to focus all of her attention to hear him, eyes locked on his lips as they moved to form the words.

He inhaled breathily, moving his hands to hover in front of her thighs, fingertips just barely skimming the bare skin between the tops of her thigh high boots and the bottom of her skirt. Continuing to lightly trace along the delicate skin, fingertips journeying northward at an excruciatingly slow pace, he resumed, pausing briefly between each word.

"A gorgeous, talented, strong," his fingers traced patterns now on the soft skin of her outer thighs beneath her skirt, causing the muscles there to quiver and tense as the nimble digits began to move inward, towards her sopping wet center, the seat of her now-obvious arousal, "smart, sexy woman."

He continued, his words picking up a heated intensity as his voice dipped to an almost-growl, "A woman who needs to be reminded..." His jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed, fingers tracing over the fabric of her panties surrounding the very tops of her thighs, teasing along the seams of fabric stretched deliciously taut over the soft curves of flesh. Nessa shook with each barely-there touch; feeling the violent swell of her body's responsiveness to even this mild whisper of sensation as shocks of sharp need lanced through her abdomen, her clit singing its now-familiar tune of insistence—that the tightness wounding in her core be resolved, that it be touched, fondled, tampered with preferably by his fingers, mouth, or, best of all, his cock, in acts equal parts sacred and profane. She gasped with the heavy ache, locking eyes with his intense, still-narrowed stare and smirk of recognition. 

His voice dipped down to the hoarsest of whispers, his exhales tickling her chin as he resumed his verbal assault, "You need to be reminded," he paused, fingertips resting on the drenched fabric, motionless, for the moment, "that you are mine." The last word was growled with such overt aggression, Nessa questioned if the voice even came from Julian or if there was some feral presence also in the space with them. She did not dwell upon those thoughts long, however, because Julian's thick digits began to move, strum really, across the hypersensitive engorged flesh at her center, playing her as if she were his guitar, making her sing, cry out, wail in ecstasy and then beg for more. 

She released herself fully from inhibition, allowing the most obscene noises to come out of her mouth. She no longer cared about dignity, her body simply wouldn't let her. It had missed him more than she realized. She had missed him more than she realized, missed his touch, his scent, the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he kissed—

Her thought stream was again abruptly interrupted by his grip on her lush thighs as he yanked her forward and his head disappeared underneath her leather skirt. She inhaled sharply, trying to prepare for whatever he had in mind under there.  His tongue laved a dripping line down the front of her panties. If she wasn't wet before, well she was positively torrential now. The fabric clung to her flushed skin, providing friction as he continued licking away long and slow underneath her. 

Nessa tensed her thighs in a vain attempt to contain the feeling, the rush of anticipation, the tension at her center, the illicit thrill of a semi-public space, the lush, heavy slide of his tongue, the soft brush of his hair against her thighs, the adrenaline still pumping through her from the DJ set, the sudden realization that he must have seen her,  _heard_  her perform live and what's more, he  _enjoyed_  it. 

This new Nessa with new interests, new passions that she had come to on her own, that had saved her, rehabilitated her, given her back to herself. He supported it, loved it, simply because it was part of her now. Her muscles clenched pleasurably with a particularly hard stroke of Julian's tongue. She gasped as cool air hit the dampened folds of her core when roughened fingertips glinted down the sides of her shaking thighs—his index fingers already hooked into the waistband of her silky panties, which sailed smoothly along soft skin, coming to a graceful crumple at her ankles. She stepped out of them instinctively. 

His wicked tongue continued lapping away at her slippery center as if nothing had happened.  _As if he hadn't just taken my panties off in the backroom of this freaken venue_ , Nessa thought with incredulity, aware now of the din outside and awakening to the real possibility that any one of those chattering voices could barge in at any moment. 

"Fuck," she muttered scratchily without realizing, prompting Julian's head to emerge from under her skirt, the loss of it between her thighs causing Nessa to whine in agony. 

"Shhh baby-girl," he cooed, "let me take care of you."

Her heart melted as the muscles down below clenched, churning the vast ocean of heaviness that clung to her drenched walls, ever present in his presence, surging forth then receding timidly in dizzying turns that made her head spin and her body strain. 

His lips glinted in the semi-darkness, the entire area around them gleaming with a slick mixture of his saliva and her juices, imparting a silvery tinge to his tawny skin and making Nessa's insides quake with such force, she was surprised they didn't erupt right out of her on the spot. 

He smiled—a full toothy reassuring grin that would have had her melting into a helpless puddle were it not for the abrupt opening of the door jarring them both out of the moment. That dreaded fight-flight-freeze reaction kicked in and Nessa, without forethought or warning, sunk down onto Julian's seated form. Her body's attempt to conceal itself from potential danger/embarrassment just so happened to land her squarely in Julian's lap, legs on either side of his slender waist in a full on straddle, head tucked firmly into the hollow on the side of his neck, hot anxious breaths hitting the thin skin with an occasional graze of winter-chapped lips. 

She clung to him tightly as rustling and a shard of light cutting into the space just millimeters short of their entangled bodies gave evidence that someone was in the corridor, looking for something in here, something that Nessa fervently hoped they either found quickly or would give up trying to find soon lest they advance further in and catch sight of something that would be hot gossip. 

Nessa saw the headlines flash before her, each one attempting a more distasteful pun about the situation they were discovered in; a seedy back room in a dingy club, as well as a reference, lest the public forget, to "the incident," speculations about their sobriety, indictments against their respective characters, slander from "anonymous sources close to the couple," mentions of her and Sam and the engagement she had backed out of. Like a horror show in her head the images rolled on, each one causing her grip on Julian to tighten, as if the pressure exerted was somehow proportional to the alleviation of the horror reel. 

The desperate force of Nessa's grip was matched by one of equal strength from Julian except his sought to convey a kind of stolid reassurance, a protectiveness that swallowed her in its warmth and possession. For a moment, Nessa could actually believe he was capable of protecting her, the antidote to her despair instead of the trigger. The thoughts of what could be subsided in this moment, giving way to thoughts of what is, of this moment as an interlude to the songs their bodies wanted to sing, had just been singing, the steady pace of Julian's breath, the sturdiness of his grip, the solidity of his body against her own, the satiny feel of his delicate skin against her cheek nestled gently in the crook of his warm neck. 

This moment of presentness was her saving grace. It ended as the next one was punctuated by his steady gaze, filled with a certain stillness that instantly calmed her. Having gently pulled her from her safe space, he grounded her wholly with a hazel-toned look of subdued passion that thrummed with occasional flashes of pure fire, unfreezing her, freeing her headspace and allowing her to just be, to float in his steadiness for a beat.

Her body gave a small tremble as her two doll-like large brown eyes that previously held fear now widened in awe after darting to the tender bottom lip that Julian had just licked, his tongue gliding smoothly along its surface, causing the translucent skin there to glisten in the light from the open door before he drew it between his teeth, biting it, holding it there for her to savor, for her to crave.

Alas, he released the soft flesh to speak as Nessa's insides curled with fresh waves of desire, more unruly than the last set, more insistent, persistent, clawing away at her core which awoke with a fury from its few moments of dormancy demanding that sweet pressure only he could deliver and that her body refused to forget. 

He sighed through a smirk as he whispered in the darkness, "We're alone."

 


	14. Sexodus

* * *

A spark ignited in Nessa's eyes as they widened in realization—she was so caught up in Julian, his presence had so thoroughly pervaded her senses, had so narrowed her focus, that she was completely blind to the expansion of light from the open door as it slowly encroached upon and then seized their little corner of darkness. She only saw the glint of it in Julian's eyes. She had allowed them to become her objective reality, the mirrors upon which the whole world— _her_ whole world—was reflected and interpreted. Such seeming violations of agency were commonplace with Julian, but this one struck her the most. It wasn't that she felt infringed upon in any way, in fact, it was the opposite, she felt  _free_. Free from the anxiety, from expectations—her family's, society's and her own—free from judgment, from burden, just free, liberated. In his gaze, she had discovered herself. Well, moreso a part of herself, but an important one, one that she had been running from at least since their breakup, if not well before.

It took her breath away and he seemed to recognize the import of the moment as an airy stillness settled around them, the kind that often follows big revelatory moments like these, the kind that permeates the hollows of the mind that were once filled with shadow but were now bathed in light. Nessa felt a creeping ease pouring over her tense limbs and muscles rendering the taut sinews lax. Her body felt ready. But for what?

Her core answered swiftly with uproarious contractions spurring her to release a sharp, breathy exhale. It was all Julian needed to reinstate their former proceedings, pleased to note the shift in their positioning, which he intended to take full advantage of if Nessa was game for something a little more naughty than what they had gotten up to (or off to, as the case may be) in his hotel room.

He started slowly, not necessarily to tease her, more to ease her back into it, but the way his hands gripped her hips, the soft suction of his lips on her neck and collarbones, the occasional feather-light brush of tongue on her skin had the effect of both.

Nessa, on the other hand, required no introductory course. She was fully prepared to write the thesis, if he would just let her.

"Julian." She said it like a prayer, with a hint of strain in her voice, a subtle indication of the depth of her need, and her desire to move this along as the chill from the increased wetness sliding down her inner thighs reverberated up her spine, pleasurable tingles ringing out along her vertebrae—frissons as the French called them. Part of her was vaguely worried she would simply lose her mind if he didn't alleviate these raging sensations soon.

Her body's reactions began to take on a violent tone; tremors of heat shimmied down her midline leaving tight knots in her abdomen, constricting the muscles there before making their final forceful thrust downward, dragging along the hot tension where they commingled with their equally charged brethren igniting a four alarm fire deep in her belly. She took in a large gulp of air, trying to collect her rapid-fire thoughts. The inward whoosh of it prompted Julian to full attention, his body expectant and his warm hands still clenched on the hard bony protrusions of her hips.

Digits throbbed anxiously, antsy for exploration, perhaps even penetration, if she permitted. His entire world stood in fermata, waiting for her but also awash in her, the feel of her petite body against him, the pressure of her supple thighs upon his thick ones, and of course the heat radiating from his clothed arousal, hard and pulsing and vibrant right underneath her.

"Ride me." The hushed sultry tone of his whispered command washed through her body, prickling her skin and tempting her will. The authoritative air of his lusted-out gaze feigned control while his labored breaths caressing her face and then neck as he moved to suckle the skin there signaled just how turned on he was, prepared to go wherever she allowed him to take her, rapt in her presence. She moaned unwittingly, his voice stilling her shivers as the sensuous feel of his lush lips amplified the pleasure twisting through her, cranking up the intensity, the heat. The thought of the slide of his cock in her, like silk and iron, driving them into a state of unadulterated frenzy, mad and needy, almost undid her as the clenching muscles down below sung loudly their rabid song of need.

Her hands, which were resting comfortably on his stiff shoulders, now traveled. One gripped his already disheveled locks as his tongue lapped hotly at her neck, soothing the light bruising now blossoming there. The other moved in between their bodies, the heel of her palm slowly pressing into his heated hardness underneath her.

Julian growled low in his throat, returning his swollen lips to hers hungrily. No nuance in his urgency now, he melded his tongue with her own immediately. Nessa granted him access to the heated pit of her mouth reflexively, no need for begging. The sensual slickness of his insistent tongue which fused with her own only to peel apart again before initiating contact anew sent her pulse racing and set her nerves abuzz as the steady pulsating throb of her swollen clit brushed ever so lightly on the dark denim of his pants. Nessa inhaled sharply, sucking in some of Jules' breath in the process. The unexpected stimulation coursed through her, a piercing stab of energy she knew would only multiply once he was inside her.

Julian felt the dissipation of pressure as her palm left his crotch, groaning into her open mouth, first in protest, then in surprise as he felt some of the strain on this sensitive area release. He was now practically vibrating with the agonizing anticipation of sliding into her heat. Glancing down, he watched, transfixed, as her long, slender fingers, which had just unbuttoned his jeans, now traced slowly up his zipper until they reached the tiny silver pull, which she grasped firmly between thumb and forefinger before swiftly tugging down, each pair of teeth coming apart lessening the immense strain of the rough fabric on his cock.

It turned him on to watch her seize control like this, even as he knew it was in response to his command. She wanted it if her rapid breaths and huge black pupils had anything to say about it. She wanted it and he would let her have it, let her take him from above, cede control so she could take her pleasure from him as she pleased. He was so caught up in her, completely enraptured, breathing her in. He knew it would completely undo him when she merged their two bodies. He braced for it, moaning lowly as he felt those same digits that unzipped him encircle his cock in a secure grasp to free it from its confines.

He felt hard and heavy in her tiny hand. She wasted no time shifting her hips and teasing her dripping entrance with his leaking tip. The feeling was incomparable, and the knowledge that she was using him to tease herself, to play with her own pussy, caused his abdominals to clench and almost had him shooting his load right there. He clenched his jaw, straining against the pending eruption sure to eviscerate his insides with feral intensity.

A soft brush of fingertips from her unoccupied hand along the tender skin of his cheek transferred him from the avalanche of thick lust he was suffocating under directly into the clarity of her deep gaze. He bathed in it, allowed it to coat and calm him before being forced to throw his head back in absolute ecstasy as she sunk down upon him, engulfing his thick cock in her tight walls slowly, deliberately, with a daring smirk anointing those tarnished cherry lips. The slick slide, the mounting pressure from her silky walls, the obscene glide of her as she began to ride him slowly, carefully, it overwhelmed him.

He brought his mouth to hers in a scorching mash, biting her bottom lip before devouring her mouth, hands moving up her torso, up the front of this sinful corset she decided to wear that nearly drove him to the edge when he first saw her in it earlier doing her thing in the booth. He wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her right there under the controls those beautiful digits were so expertly manipulating. But then he had seen that Czech dickweed put his lips on her and he had to get away to compose himself lest he start a bar fight in the middle of her gig. He calmed himself down for her, only because he was sure she wouldn't appreciate him starting something here, but it wasn't easy.

He had to retreat to this little space for a breath, away from everyone, away from where he could have her in his line of sight. Regardless of his attempt at distance, the final bass-laden notes of her set still managed to trickle through the walls, washing him in sounds of her own creation, drowning his senses in her tones, pervading his mind and squeezing his soul. Instead of running, instead of trying to shut it out as he would have done in the past, he allowed himself to bask in it, to revel in her sounds, just as he was allowing himself to do now—the throaty moans rumbling forth from that sinful mouth as she ground down in his lap, her walls constricting around the hard column of his cock. He shivered in response. The squeeze was too good, the pressure too pleasurable, the slide too punishing, the sight too hot. Nessa on the edge. Nessa in his lap. Nessa providing him heaping deluges of sexual bliss, that quickly receded with each upward drag of her vice-like walls, the slow friction not quite enough to satisfy the burning need in his belly.

He attached his tender lips to her neck once again, losing himself in her as the roughened pads of his fingers traced up her forearms currently anchored behind her, small hands grasping the edge of the case they were perched on, willowy biceps straining for leverage under his deeply affecting touch. Large digits arrived at the cool metal studs lining the outside of the snug cups of her corset. Pushing the heavy fabric downwards so that it folded in on itself, he was able to gain access to the stiff darkened buds of her erect nipples, one of which he promptly enclosed in his mouth, tongue fervently stroking the crinkled flesh, tasting, teasing, tonguing and falling into a relaxed rhythm, each undulation of the indefatigable muscle leaving an aching singe on the densely packed nerves there, every single one atwitter from his ardent stimulation. Drawing back for a moment, he felt his cock twitch inside her as he observed his handiwork: the folded fabric of the corset's cups acting as a push-up, holding her small straining breasts up for his teasing tongue to play with, which he resumed to her delight, mouth engulfing the other bud as she was engulfing him below.

Nessa hadn't been this turned on in years. Literal years. Each one felt like a century in its own right. It had been long enough to not remember the dark nuances, the little piques of unbearable torment underlying the pleasure stream, populating its underbelly. Almost painful, pushing right up against the edge of tolerability, and responsible for that nagging, gnawing low-grade tinge of discomfort that always left her simultaneously harried and paralyzed to do anything about it.

No, that was the job of the man underneath her, the one she was currently riding at a ponderously slow pace not of her choosing—every time she tried to speed up, large hands that had wandered back down to clasp firmly at her hips held her with pressure at the same torturous pace. This same man who had just moments before propped the undersides of her plush breasts on bitingly cold metal studs, causing a chill to rattle through her which he immediately counteracted with his hot mouth. This man, the one who always brought her fire and ice.

God, he was devastatingly effective at drawing this out. He could read her like a score, arranging the notes to produce beautiful harmonies, dramatic tension, dizzying crescendoes and more. Right now, he was subjecting her to one long, excruciating, will-testing, breath-defying pause. He, like a petulant conductor, was making her hold this absurd pace, testing her skill, her discipline, her dedication to this overture.

Nessa sighed in resignation cut off by a sharp gasp—Julian was using his molars, the narrow planes of his frontmost teeth grazing the embattled buds previously worked by his tongue with mounting pressure. He did this successively, each time leaving Nessa awash in fraught ecstasy as she tried to swivel in his lap, body writhing as if possessed.

On the third graze, he bit down. Hard. Nessa sunk her teeth into the meaty flesh of his shoulder to silence the shriek that threatened to spill forth from her throat. It felt good, too good. Better than she would have expected for such a savage act. The pain/pleasure paradigm blurred before her. Her body could no longer distinguish between the two sensations.

She was so aroused, so turned on by his very presence, that her perception was fundamentally rearranged, keenly attuned to him—his movements, his breaths, now shallow puffs of air expelled against her chest, cooling the heat while inexplicably somehow fanning the flames further. The dark spice of his scent was now tinged with pungent earthy top-notes of sweat. She inhaled it deeply, drinking it in like an oxygen-starved hiker, perched on the snowy summit of some mountain, atmosphere thin and lungs straining against the malnourished air. His scent fed her senses, pumping his essence into her cells, suffusing her from the inside out.

She was rapt, completely subsumed by him, by his delectable body, the thick thighs underneath her, the sharp edge of enamel currently sinking into the tender flesh of her other nipple, the smooth lave of his tongue soothing the area after, the solid mass of his shoulders her fingers now dug ruthlessly into, biting the flesh with her fingers as he had just done with his mouth, the feel of his own large digits grasping tightly, punishingly almost, onto her hips, and the rustle of his hair against her cheek, the tickle of the strands as they caressed her face, indicating his torturous movement towards her ear, his lips now perched against the shell, teeth delivering a teasing nip to the cashmere-soft lobe, a quick bite and release, the tension of the stretch causing the tissue to jiggle as it settled back in place.

He inhaled, the air rushing into his mouth, causing his chest to expand against her. A hoarse whisper of breath touched her ear as the words registered,

"That was for  _him_ ," he grunted the last the word, emphasizing his disdain.

Licking a hot stripe up the juncture of her neck towards her ear, he continued breathily,

"You are mine Nessa, mine," he growled the final utterance before tilting his hips and driving into her wetness, leaving no room for doubt or rebuttal. He continued thrusting upwards with the same blunt force, impaling her fully as the shiny wetness coated his entire shaft, allowing him to increase the pace, maintaining the same intensity while drawing back to deliver a look of pure authoritative possession into her eyes. He wanted her to see, to feel, to smell, taste and hear exactly how serious he was about claiming her.

Seeing that Czech prick's lips on her pristine skin enraged him. He was still unsure how he managed to keep it together, only that he felt his mission was doubly important now. He wanted her back, in all the ways he could have her. He was willing to wait for all her layers to unfold to him again but he would not tolerate losing her before he had the chance to even plead his case. She had to know, he had to show her, she was his and his alone, only he could give her what she needed, what she didn't even know she needed—he was her  _one_ , if only she would give him a chance to prove it.

This dire train of thought was swiftly brought to an abrupt halt as Nessa kitten-licked her way into Julian's mouth again. The tender way she went about securing re-entry breeching those perfect lips using the tip of her tongue to lightly stroke his, the mischievous muscle retreating each time he tried for more contact, so keen to flood his pleasure centers with the maximum load, blowing out his synapses in his entire being's ongoing struggle to feel as much of her as it could, to take her into himself and keep her there—for eternity maybe. His own thoughts shocked him. He was unprepared for such brutal self-honesty—especially mid-thrust as his hips jerked upward spearing her thickly yet again.

His thighs were soaked already, dark denim the perfect canvas for the wetness pouring out of her. He loved it. Loved how she could soak through his thickest denim before he even got his cock inside her. And when it was his face under her instead—the endless gush of her translucent slickness, the taste of it like bitter melon on his tongue, the warmth of it on his skin, the shine of it glossing his lips as he worked her core with his whole mouth—Jesus Christ, if there is a heaven, it is located directly between her thighs.

Nessa's body had been taking the punishing pummeling motionlessly, a temporary paralysis to indulge herself in the fierce bullet-like drives of pressure Julian was exacting in her. The pleasure was indescribable. It corkscrewed through her gut, tearing outwards from her center ripping like a chainsaw, terrorizing the tissues of her body in a vicious slash and burn that found its terminus in the goosebumps erupting all over the glowing expanse of her skin, each one like a miniature electric shock dispelling the energy into the surrounding air. All she could do was take it, not capable of anything more than accepting the ferocity of his pounding, delivered with expert precision battering her tight carnal walls.

The force, the friction, the ceaselessness of his hardness blasted through her as she trembled, recalling the possessiveness of his prior words— _Was he? Could he be?_   _No,_ she thought to herself,  _surely the Julian Casablancas was not actually jealous...of Bogdan? Holy shit. He was—_ She had vaguely considered he might be angry with her, upset at the perceived flagrancy of her behavior—but certainly not jealous. Julian knew nothing of the nature of her relationship with the Czech DJ and she knew that he had seen, the distance and angle of his vantage point, plus the darkness shrouding the club's interior probably lent their playful interactions a salacious air when in reality, it was all in jest, as it always was, silly really.

Shit, he had nothing to worry about, he was claiming her so thoroughly—not that she could even bring herself to consider fleeing this tremendous cyclone she had conjured through her decisions and subsequent actions. No. She was perfectly content to sit in the eye of the storm—if only to see her chosen course of action through. Nessa was no quitter, no matter how dire the circumstances got, she had an almost gnawing compulsion when it came to these things, hell bent and hard headed, on seeing them through to the end, no matter how disastrous.

A particularly sharp pivot of Jules' hips brought her abruptly out of her thoughts, the elasticity of her walls no match for the sheer thickness of him, supplying her a  heavy rapturous stretch with an underlying low-grade burn that sizzled inside her as she fought to catch the breath he had pounded out of her with his last brutal thrust. And so she sat  _in medias res_ , content to at least have a soft place to land—his thighs—as hard thrusts of ownership sweetly strained her insides. 

His own actions growing too pleasurable for him to sustain, his cock ached deeply, viscerally straining with the sheer effort of holding the pending explosion at bay. He was almost too afraid to feel it, the low level fear motivated by a staunch ringing awareness that it would be enormous, life-changing, perhaps maybe even life-ending, he wasn't exactly sure. Julian was on the brink of of an eruption so profound, even the anticipation of it conjured images of cataclysms—powerful and violent, the kind that could level entire towns—entire civilizations—entire universes.

A gravelly moan sung out from his throat as he clenched his abdominals tightly, hoping they could Hoover Dam him while he continued to pleasure the beautiful woman in his lap, so much more than a lover and shining like a constellation before his ravenous eyes. Her facial muscles displayed the effort of taking him. Almond eyes opened at the sound of his moan. A flash moved through them quickly as they refocused, a crystal clear lucidity emerging from their mocha depths. A glint of wickedness accompanied the narrowing of her eyes as she began to bear down in time with his upward thrusts, doubling the force as they smashed their bodies together in this dark corridor, suspending from time, outside of it somehow, the entire world narrowed to them, in that moment, they  _were_  the entire world—at least to each other. 

The excruciating pleasure built with ferocious mounting force as Nessa throttled herself down on Julian's stiff cock which met her downward thrusts with well-timed pivots of his powerful hips. Together, they moved like clockwork, the pressure beating through the slick membranes as they connected, pulsing outward and intensifying the sensations they were producing in one another. A guttural moan from Nessa's parched lips ignited something feral inside Julian who roughly bit the soft flesh of her ear before unleashing a primal growl of his own while groaning out into the shell of her ear,

"That's it baby-girl, fucking milk my cock."

It slipped out of nowhere, presumably, for she was neither prepared nor saw it coming. She felt as if she had been coasting on the plateau of this wet, stomach-clenching agonizingly good carnal bliss for an indefinite amount of time—anywhere from a few minutes to an eternity were distinct possibilities given how thoroughly this state dulled her time-keeping faculties. Then, like an atom bomb sinking silently from the sky above, her orgasm detonated upon his words, leveling her insides with such celerity, she forgot who she was for a few precious seconds, ego annihilated and subsumed by the mushroom cloud her spasming muscles jammed through her as they made their final twisting clenches squeezing like an industrial press upon his cock, one-half pain, the other half absolute heaven-sent pleasure as his carefully reinforced dams burst open from the energy transferred by her fluttering walls, and his orgasm ripped through him with a vengeance, equally ruthless in turn. 

Julian's vision blacked out for a few moments as the hot thick milky substance poured out of him in violent eruptions, coating her walls as he regained his vision only to witness his lover in the throes, head back, the delicate ropes of her neck muscles taut with the strain, sinful mouth open in a silent, wordless 'Oh,' brows knotted in a look that could have easily signaled distress as well as denouement. 

The sight of her left him still coming as aftershocks ricocheted upwards along his shaft and come oozed out of him, coating the insides of her thighs as she finally regained her grip on herself and dismounted, perhaps prematurely, as her untrustworthy legs shaky like jello caused her to stumble awkwardly forward as he rose on instinct to catch her, drawing her into the damp warmth of his chest while stroking her arms soothingly as she she stood shaking in front of him, mind shattered and aftershocks still wracking her core and fraying her sore muscles.

Just then, the door to this moment and their corridor of seclusion was aggressively wrenched open yet again as Bogdan's unmistakable Czech-accented voice rung out clearly in the space. 

"Hey Nessa, come out!"


	15. The Reeling

* * *

"Fuck!" they cried out in unison amidst a frantic flurry of fingers flying to re-zip, re-cover, and recover. How to appear casual while echoes of her seismic orgasm still rumbled through her, Nessa had no idea.

Her slender hands moved to fix her hair back into its topknot—her "buddha bun" as she jokingly referred to the tight round entanglement sitting centerstage on her head. It was a little worse for the wear, Julian's eager fingers had displaced more than a few of the silky black strands. After hastily tucking the longer tendrils back into place, she used her palms to smooth the stubborn static-laden wisps which the very man now bursting in on the tawdry pair had once half-fondly, half-jokingly referred to as her "alfafa sprouts."

A drunkenly slurred and heavily Czech-accented mispronunciation had rendered these little wisps her "falf." To her dismay, the term had caught on amongst their circle in Japan. The word sounded stupid to her and she announced this loudly every time those velar consonants reached her ears.

Secretly she despised the sobriquet less for its prosodic silliness, however, than its uncanny accuracy. Tokyo was a rough period, maybe even the roughest of her life. She drifted listlessly through it, swaying wherever the gentle but short-lived breeze of distraction blew her, much like the weightless dried alfafa sprouts she imagined scattering in chaos to the four winds. Whenever the term was uttered, she saw them in her mind directionless, drifting with the slightest provocation from the breezes. Unmoored and out of touch, she prayed to Zephyr, or to any other wind deity who might be listening, to transmit her back to herself but they kept blowing her farther. There was no self to convey her back to—shattered as it was at the loss of the man she loved recklessly and at the pain of the victim who had suffered the devastating, debilitating consequences of that love.

For the latter, she would never forgive herself. She thought of that innocent man every day, forcing herself to remember each detail of his twisted body ensnared in the crumpled metal that once was his vehicle but functioned in that horrifying instance as his prison. To have caused someone, anyone, bodily harm so grave that it nearly took his life and almost cost him his limbs, was something Nessa never thought herself or Jules capable of. But the reckless nature of her love for him, this great cosmic force that bound them together so tightly that at times it felt close to suffocating her, this wild force had paralyzed an innocent bystander. A nauseating pulse of guilt and leaden dread skulked through her. The heaviness was palpable as she sunk with the weight of remembering exactly what had brought them to this critical juncture.

Bleakness settled in her stomach as her Tokyo compatriot strode into the space which now felt strangely cavernous, the potent sexual energy previously vitilizing it having dissipated, giving way to a pair of disheveled lovers standing beside one another facing the weary but curious visage of a tipsy Czech DJ.

Nessa sighed deeply as she glanced from Bogdan to a stony faced Julian then back to Bogdan again in a vain attempt to ascertain what was about to transpire. She stared hard looking for signs hidden behind the raised brow of befuddlement skewing her old mentor's face. She saw nothing but felt a visceral shift in the energy of the room from surrealistic to stark. The absurdity of her present circumstances colored the stale air. She blushed. She and Jules were both in disarray, hair matted from the sweat still clinging to their skin in beads, imparting an otherworldly and pungent glimmer to the duo.

Nessa knew she could pass off her current state of disrepair as the result of her strenuous efforts in the steamy cauldron of the D.J. booth earlier. Add in Julian's kiss-swollen lips, rumpled clothing, and the big dark patch of dampness on his jeans, however, and she knew anyone with eyes and a smidgen of common sense could intuit what had happened here. She blushed again as a stolen side glance elucidated the damp patch in greater depraved detail, its jagged irregular contours like the boundary lines on a map, clearly delineating their previous activities. She felt another wave of heat rise to her cheeks as she wrenched her eyes away from the evidence of her prior arousal soaking darkly into the denim stretched over Julian's thigh. This looked bad. Really bad. She felt her insides churning as she stood stewing in the awkwardness surrounding them.

After what felt like eons had passed, or was it just a couple of minutes?—her mortification ensured that it felt like the former—Bogdan quirked a brow while a nascent smirk pulled at the corners of his thin lips and just like that, she was snapped back to reality and real time. His burgeoning amusement delivered her fully into the ridiculousness of this corridor and its contents.

As soon as the smirk sprouted fully on Bogdan's face, Nessa knew where this was headed. Her shoulders dropped as the rigidity began to leave her beleaguered muscles. She inhaled a full breath, her stance relaxing as she prepared herself for Bogdan's "court jester" mode, sure to piss Julian off and just as likely to get Bogdan punched in the face.

The skin contracted into wrinkled arches over Bogdan's thick raised brow almost like ripples in water disturbed by a stone. Nessa stared at the area, unable to make direct eye contact with him.

Cracking through the narrow space without pretense, Bogdan's jeering outburst whipped through them, "Nessa! You slut!"

The bemused line of his lips remained upturned on one side and the stress on the final "t" rung in her ears as she stared incredulously at the jokester. A flurry of air rushed past her ear as her eyes tracked in horror the terse movement of Julian's clenched fist springing forth to make direct and brutal contact with Bogdan's left cheek, punching the smirk right off his face.

Her body spun forcefully towards Julian. His nostrils were flaring with vigorous breaths that caused his broad chest to expand and contract rapidly.

"What the fuck?!" Nessa and Bogdan yelled simultaneously, Nessa's voice projecting fury, Bogdan's teeming with indignation. Both were pitched barbs directed squarely at the thrower of the punch.

Julian's heavy breaths eased somewhat and a steely mask overtook his face, hardening his features. He looked imperious, dark, almost mystical in an unsettling way. Nessa gulped. Bogdan shifted his weight, hand still cupping the bruised flesh of his cheek as the hot air fizzled around them, awaiting the next perturbance.

Julian growled at Bogdan in a fearsome baritone, "Don't you dare call her that or anything else, asshole, unless you want me to break the rest of you too."

The grittiness of his tone underscored the malice and contempt saturating each syllable. A shudder twisted up Nessa's spine all the way to her shoulders, which shook in an effort to contain the jerky sensation.

With a pointed glare, Julian strode confidently towards the Czech DJ, who wore his signature mocking grin as if trying to provoke the lead singer again. He paused for a split second to make murderous eye contact with Bogdan, before towering past him in an authoritarian display of dominance. Nessa watched as the outline of his lanky frame was broken up by the shadows slowly engulfing him as he receeded further down the corridor. Eventually his form was swallowed whole by the blackness as he exited the fraught site of their latest and most tempestuous tryst.

Nessa released a breath she had been holding deep in her lungs, turning towards Bogdan who fixed her with a beguiling glare before parting his thin lips to state plainly, "He loves you, you know."

It was not a question, and the even tone of his delivery unsettled her deep in her belly, churning the ocean of doubt and stirring up the self loathing cultivated by all the questions, both big and small, that she was no closer to answering now than she was yesterday, the night before, the days before that, the years prior, or the eons before everything.

She mumbled her profuse apologies to Bogdan, choosing not to address his astute observation which lingered in the air above them, the words unsaid enough to confirm to them both that yes, she knew. She had always known. Her uncertainty about whether this knowledge was a burden or a blessing, however, continued to plague her as she followed Bogdan out of the choked corridor, her equipment in tow.

***

One sidewalk glare off later, Nessa found herself seated in a cab with Julian. Both passengers were seething. Her delicate features were arranged in a deep scowl. The waves of annoyance radiating off the two tense bodies occupying opposite ends of the backseat was so thick that even the cabbie could feel the tension in the air as it wafted through the thick plexi divider to the front of the car.

The driver's nervous, fidgety eyes met Nessa's in the rearview mirror. Even this complete stranger could tell that one of them was about to explode. Stolen glances to gauge the mounting pressure were the poor driver's only defense against getting caught in the crossfire.

Nessa stared hard ahead, her expression a perfect mirror of the tempest brewing inside her. Another furtive glance from the cabbie in the rearview was all it took for Nessa to reel. Her mind, unable to continue thusly, yelled to her mouth,  _Fuck propriety!,_ commanding it to open as she railed, "What the fuck was that back there Julian?!"

Julian shot an amused glance her way from where he sat on the other end of the leather seat. Taking in his unapologetic, proud shit-eating grin only provoked more anger to rise up inside her.

The flames barreled through her as she addressed him again, more forcefully this time, "You can't just assault someone for being my friend!"

He winced at her tone, drawing his shoulders up as Nessa visually traced down them, through the line of his long tensed arms, her eyes stopping at the bruised knuckles he cupped loosely with his other hand. The swollen discolored flesh rustled her empathy. He was hurting, she knew, in more ways than one.

The dueling emotions confused and frustrated her further. The anger broiled, not keen on being subdued by the empathy before it had manifested in its full expression. The charred walls of its fortress were lowered, however, and its urgency was dimmed somewhat as the empathy gained a small but effectuve toehold. Striving for righteousness in her tone, she was pleased to see that her voice still held enough of anger's heat  to erase the smugness from his pouty lips, "I am not an object, Julian."

He frowned.

She continued, "You are not entitled to me."

"Neither is he!" Julian boomed instantly, almost cutting her off.

The cab driver flinched.

Nessa huffed, annoyed, "Urgh, can we just drop it for now?"

 _Ever the diplomat_ , Julian thought to himself.

"Depends," he replied cooly, waiting until she looked directly into his narrowed eyes before continuing, "is my cum still dripping out of you?"

The vehicle lurched, hitting one of NYC's signature potholes, the asphalt under the wheels as poorly maintained as Nessa's temper after that comment.

***

Of course fortune would only find it fit to shine favors on Nessa when anger burned in her belly. She rarely succumbed to this emotion, but when she did, it was a cold fury. She felt it now, the icy outrage seeping into her veins which visibly rose to the surface under the thin-skinned areas, taking on a greenish cast from the golden undertones of her luminous skin. She fought to contain the feeling, her body tense like a coiled spring that she was trying desperately to unwind lest the potential energy inside it gain a window of release and recoil upon her.

Traffic. Fortune so generously delivered her this standstill vehicular logjam of agony they were now maddeningly sitting within. The yellow cab would amble forward every five or so minutes, gaining a paltry few inches in the vast sea of identical bright yellow taxis surrounding it.

She was overwrought, the full toll of the evening's stresses, those expected and those not, sank into her, taking the edge off the anger and replacing it with a dull cloud of exhaustion. Her petite body simply lacked the space to hold it all and the rage boiled off, the most virulent parts of it evaporating into the stuffy air of the cab's interior, leaving Nessa with an all-consuming fatigue that soon gave way to resignation as the vehicle continued its slow creep.

She released a drawn-out sigh before turning to Julian and muttering dispassionately, "Where is your hotel?"

He regarded her a moment before answering, "Don't have one."

This perplexed her. She considered for a moment, then inquired, "But I thought you sold your apartment in the city?"

Julian replied calmly, "I did."

Nessa's eyes now swam back and forth, searching the darkness in vain until they narrowed and settled upon his once more.

"So," she spoke haltingly, as if she was simultaneously still trying to find the missing piece that would render sense into this puzzle, "where are you staying?"

Julian didn't answer, allowing the stagnant air made artificially warm and stiflingly humid by the cab's overzealous heating unit to absorb his nonanswer into its mugginess.

Once again, the evening found Nessa fuming as realization dawned. She withdrew into herself, fighting the disbelief and its pursuant furor convulsing in her gut. Consumed again by this fraught struggle, and focusing all her attention on mitigating this crazed energy, she was taken by surprise when what could have been ages or merely minutes later, the meter-box chirped its tone signaling the fare was being screeched out onto receipt paper before fat fingers ripped it mercilessly out from the little black box on the dashboard and unceremoniously handed it to Julian, who paid the bill before Nessa could protest.

Swiftly he wrenched the car door open and quickly exited the vehicle while Nessa gathered herself to do the same. The distinct pop of the trunk opening caused the car's interior to pivot gently, unbalancing her and undermining her effort to gather what remained of her constitution.

Exiting the vehicle on tremulous legs, she saw that Julian had retrieved the rolling case with her equipment and was perched against its extended handle, his long body dipping into a relaxed posture in that louche way she always found stupidly attractive despite herself. An apologetic smile graced his soft lips, the lower of which was flushed and glistening from his prior biting—or maybe even her prior biting. She shivered.

 _How?_  She questioned herself,  _How does he do this to me?_  Unconsciously pulling her lip between her teeth where she gnawed on it unsparingly, she reached out to grab the handle of the case as the cab pulled away into the slow torrent of oncoming traffic.

Julian maneuvered the case out of her way and proceeded toward the entrance of her building with the rolling case trailing behind him, its handle firmly in his grasp. Nessa stood stunned for a few moments before her legs and brain caught up, the latter telling the former to and unfreeze as she scurried up to his bounding strides.

They were waiting for the elevator in the shiny lobby when Julian next spoke, his eyes still fixed on the gleaming metal doors ahead of him.

"Remember you used to have those muscle knots I would massage out for you?"

His fingers were drumming lightly on the case's handle as he spoke. He turned now to look at Nessa. She smiled, gaze pinned to the rhythmic drumming of his digits on the plastic handle, recalling that many of those knot busting sessions had turned into nut busting sessions as the elevator doors pinged open and she suppressed a chuckle while stepping inside, goofy smile still plastered on her face.

"What's so amusing, baby-girl?" He questioned lazily, donning a grin himself.

The familiar pet name only heightened the spell of fond memories she was currently under.

She responded airily, "Happy endings."

Julian chuckled, catching her drift as he began to reminisce about various instances of post-knot busting nut busting himself.

The doors pinged open as the pair made their way to Nessa's front door. Pausing at her threshold, he turned toward her as she trawled her coat pockets for the key. Mirth dissipated from his gaze and an abiding solemnity took its place.

He spoke softly. "Will we have a happy ending, Ness?"

The question penetrated her ribs, causing her heart to shuffle wildly and her lungs to deflate as her shaky fingers jammed the key into the lock and turned.

Cracking the heavy metal door open, she sighed wearily, "Let's go inside." 

* * *

 


	16. Way U Make Me Feel

* * *

Seated on the plush cream sofa in the open-plan double-height living area, Nessa shifted uncomfortably. Shallow breaths were the metronome keeping time to the melody her eyes played as they darted every which way save for the one way inhabited by the lanky figure seated a few body-lengths away towards the opposite end of the large couch. 

Nervousness flitted inside her. The steady thump of her heart rung in her ears, its volume amplified by the thick silence. It hung heavy around them, saturating the air, coating their lungs with each inhalation, strangling their airways until finally they choked out simultaneously, 

"Wha—"

"Why—"

Flustered, they chuckled, breaking through the shroud of awkwardness and silence that had engulfed the space. 

Julian spoke next, his voice airy from the gaffe, "Ladies first."

Nessa rolled her eyes dramatically, fully aware and acquainted with Jules' penchant for light teasing of her Feminist positions—of which the innocuous phrase he had just uttered was part. Despite her disdain for the expression as well as the sentiment behind it, she accepted the invitation, glad to finally start the conversation that might answer some of those nagging questions she had been stumbling over for the last few days, months really, decades even, eons perhaps...

"Julian, what are we doing?" she asked in a soft, somber tone, eyes fixed on the carpeted floor underneath her now bare feet. She hazarded a glance his way after a few moments. His eyes were large and doleful, beseeching, his brow carried a deep furrow, altogether he seemed alert but deep in the trenches of his thoughts—simultaneously present but far away—in some other place, on some other plane. 

Nessa wished she could see what he was seeing, wished she could feel what he was feeling, inhabit his thoughts, his body, but she found herself on the outside looking in, hoping for a glimpse of the gears turning in his head. Moments, or eons, later his thick lips parted as he fixed her with an inscrutable look, belied by the timidity of his tone, "What do you want, Ness?"

She expelled the breath she had been unconsciously holding in a big whoosh of air that left her just as dizzy as Julian's question. The truthful answer was that she had no idea. 

Myriad forces stirred in her head, traces of thoughts— _it takes two to tango, what do you_  _want, Julian?_ —memories—the deep wrinkles of the Moroccan soothsayer's face blackened by the shadows from the fire's sharp glow and his stained dark purple lips as he spoke in broken French from the throat, making it sound like Arabic, his words echoing through her memory, " _He is your one, without him you will only ever be half_ ,"—images—Ravi's stern face confronting her about the very man slouched beside her in his apartment—feelings—the stabbing guilt of lying to her uncle's face compounded with the ever persistent guilt that plagued her daily from 'the incident' and the recklessness at the heart of it all, itself a force carrier for whatever this powerful magnetic energy that pulsed endlessly between them was, robbing her of reason and bending her will along its field lines, orienting her heart like a compass always toward true north; toward Julian.

The whirlpool swirled on, tossing her about the swells of the ocean of possibilities in which she now swam. Julian's steady gaze plunged through the depths to rescue her, a life-raft that brought her back to the present moment, allowing her to catch her breath before she spoke,

"What is this thing between us Jules?"

"Well, in some places, they call it a couch," he replied, amusement thick in his tone as his face crinkled to accommodate his narrowed eyes and smile.

Nessa's mouth hung open in shock before she sputtered and burst into a fit of cackles, unsure if she was laughing at Jules' quip, the entire situation, her own stupidity, or all three combined. Tears had begun to spill from the sides of her eyes before she was finished.

Julian looked at her quizzically, "It wasn't  _that_  funny, baby-doll."

The combination of the laughter-tears igniting the memory of her recent confrontation with Ravi and Julian's use of that poignant term-of-endearment; the type he usually reserved for when she was about to come or for when he was amused, usually by her unintentionally, brought her back to the point of this conversation—their future, or—she hesitated to even acknowledge the thought—the lack thereof.

"No, Julian, listen," her voice picked up urgency, prompting him to give her his full attention, his eyes and countenance serious and focused.

"I...I..." her eyes darted to somewhere behind him, panning the middle distance in search of the right words, "I feel crazy when I'm with you...uh...around you...anywhere close to you, really."

Julian's smirk, the one that oozed sex and promise, made a triumphant return to his face. 

Nessa quickly added, "It's not good!" Then, "It's not bad either—obviously—but like not ideal...What it is is...uh..." She trailed off, attention diverted to Julian's tongue as it licked a slow, lascivious path across his fleshy lower lip, carefully drawing it between his teeth before releasing it now shiny and blood-filled and just  _goddammit_ , Nessa thought to herself. Her insides were already dripping with lust remembering how he had given her nipples the same deliciously sordid treatment earlier, leaving them raw just like his lip. She felt them stiffen again at the memory, even as they still rung with soreness from his prior attack.

He fixed her with a dark glare that did nothing but cause her body to pump out wetness yet again. She clenched her thighs at the feeling, which only served to produce a pleasurable sensation in her heightened state. 

"You mean this?" His voice was all baritone and rasp, and the waves of arousal radiating off him charged the air around her as she felt the prickle of goosebumps erupting all over her skin.

"Yeah," she exhaled with a shiver, then, bending her plush lips into a sly smile, "this is it."

Jules was wide-eyed and she watched the creases bracket the upturned corners of his mouth. Wistfulness seized him at the memory of the last time she had stunned him with this same witty remark—the night of their first kiss. How he had savored her taste that balmy summer eve, relished it and was left hungry for more after their lips had parted. A wave of urgency shot through him and he spoke from that still-famished place inside himself,

"Is this what you want, Nessa?"

Nessa's countenance was clothed in hesitance, prompting her paramour to hastily continue, "Because I feel it too. I've always felt it, never stopped feeling it, but we both need to want it, you know?"

She nodded imperceptibly, her eyes still glazed over with exactly what Julian had flown here to vanquish—doubt. 

He inhaled deeply, seeking that part of himself he disliked sharing with others the most: the sacral seat of his emotions, that buried pit he worked strenuously to hide, he would now uncover, for her.

"Nessa, you're the only one whose ever really gotten me, made me feel understood, sometimes without words even. No one else gets it..." he trailed off, taking a moment to assess how far in the danger zone this excavation had dug him. He was approaching critical mass. She could end him, if she so chose. 

His tone cracked weakly, "Ness, are you ready to give this another try?" 

Calling forth the dregs of his fortitude, he continued, "Are you ready to give us another try?" 

He paused to gather up the last remainders of himself still left before putting them on offer with his final appeal, "I am. Because Ness, I love you. Never stopped actually," the urgency lurched within him, "never will." 

Laid bare before her shell-shocked eyes, he girded himself for her answer, sending a silent prayer up to the universe, deity, maybe even the force itself that thrummed eternally between them, a pagan plea to please, by all the gods, spirits, forces of this world and the next,  _do not let this wreck me._

Sensing his acute distress and understanding the import of his revelation, she spoke quickly to relieve him.

"Julian, I want what you want. I feel what you feel," she watched the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest as he fought to keep his breathing under control, "but there are some good reasons why it might not be a good id—"

"Like what?!" he yelled, unable to contain himself any longer, "Give me one good reason Nessa!"

She stood her ground, brashness in her tone at the challenge.

"The accident!" she gritted back in a guttural shriek laced with despair.

Julian recoiled, gathering his wits before registering the tone and her guilt-wracked form which had deflated; shrunken shoulders, crumpled torso, shaking delicate hands, downcast head and tightly closed eyes. 

He could only imagine the horror behind those long-lashed lids—the collision had rendered him unconscious, he was lucky not to have the mental images preying upon his mind, or so the therapist at rehab had told him—only now it left him witness to the mental devastation of his  _one_ , who held his heart, and he could give neither confirmation nor denial of her horror reel's veracity. 

He moved closer to her on the couch, gingerly placing his large hand flatly on her shoulder, not wanting to spook her, but to support her, to support them both really, as they negotiated—with each other and with the surreal force which bound them together.

He spoke in a soft, hushed tone, "Ness, I'm so sorry—sorry I put you through that, sorry it hurt someone so bad, sorry about how much shit you had to deal with because of it, but you know what I'm most sorry about?"

Nessa opened her eyes, their edges glimmering with the crystalline shine of unshed tears, and shook her head.

"That it cost me you." Julian's eyes held that same salty glimmer. 

She gasped and felt like she was choking on air at his revelation—so unaccustomed to candor from him. His feelings dwelled in his lyrics and his music. He preferred aloofness in all other instances. She had connected with this quality, her own enigmatic nature reaching out to his. 

The mysterious air that clung to her presence, however, was less of a conscious choice on her part than with him, but every bit as intriguing, drawing others in despite her best efforts to mitigate this with her wardrobe choices: typically dark, rarely symmetrical, often studded with metal hardware, stovepipe pants elongating her frame making her appear taller than her 5'2", tops and dresses which hung blithely from her form, breaking up her natural hourglass figure and exaggerating her movements with their gauzy flow—a study in contrasts—beguiling, irreverent and intimidating, but not enough so to dispel the alluring enigma which lurked most prominently behind the large disarming brown eyes, the very same ones that had ensnared Julian onstage that first time at Don Hill's.

A heavy helping of fear, guilt, and doubt still clawed at her insides despite his confession. His words were the clarity she needed but the flashes of 'the incident' burned through her mind like an acid bath. Doubt riddled its recesses as the fight with Ravi and her cowardly retreat to hasty subterfuge to cover her tracks entered the slipstream as well. 

Deep down she knew that at the heart of the churning chaos ravaging her mental and emotional planes lay the true fear, the one underpinning it all, the only one that really mattered in this back-and-forth between her head and her heart. She could blame externalities all she wanted—and she had, devoting countless hours to ruminating on 'the facts': her family, Tokyo, the incident, the nasty press, the injuries to herself and the man unfortunate enough to be pulverized on an unsuspecting patch of highway, his family, his suffering, her own—both physical and emotional—her friends, like Oli, and the price they paid for this wild, rambunctious love. She could and had examined each part, the role it played, why it all went down the way it did with scrutiny. But none of those elements had eased the entropy trampling her will like a vicious stampede. In this moment, under the hot glare of Julian's hazel eyes, it became apparent: the fear, it was of herself.

"It wasn't your fault, baby-girl," his tone evened to his usual deep rasp-tickled timbre.

"Nessa, Momma," switching to a gentle sing-song lilt, he crooned sweetly, "it's not your fault."

He repeated it a few more times, placing emphasis on different parts, as if he were working out the chorus to a song. Nessa smiled graciously, unable to do anything else whenever she heard him sing, the emotion and intent behind each word always viscerally felt, ringing in her bones and stirring deep emotions within her. 

"But Julian, it  _is_  my fault. If—"

"If what?!" He thundered, shaking the air in the room. "It already happened, Nessa, you can't change it. Neither can I. Would I if I could? Fuck yeah I would. But I can't. And neither can you. No matter how many times you play it back in your head. You've got to let it go, Momma. You're stronger than this. We're stronger than this."

"But are we strong enough?" she whispered, then, under her breath, "Am I?"

"What are you afraid of, Ness?"

"There's so much, Jules," Nessa's eyes darted around wildly tallying the obstacles as she continued, "my family, the press, Sam, your family," Julian winced at that one, wondering when she would broach the topic of his ex-wife and kid. He was surprised she hadn't raised the issue sooner and he had begun to fear she did not know. But that was so unlike her—to not have kept tabs on him as he had on her throughout their time apart. He was beginning to outline the scenarios of breaking it to her, but now fresh relief seized him followed by curiosity about why it had not come up until now. And also—her ex. She had disavowed him in front of Julian but doubt still lingered about her feelings for the man she almost married. However, there was something more potent than anything on her list at the heart of this.

She continued her enumeration, "whatever this is between us—"

He cut her off, "You."

Not one to shirk the plain truth when it so baldly confronted her, she sighed, "Me."

"I'm scared I can't handle it...us, Julian, and the last thing I want is for someone else to get hurt—" choking up at the admission of her deepest held fear.

Two warm solid arms ensconced her as two warm solid tears skated down her face. Soft lips and gentle air grazed her overheated forehead as he whispered softly, "Never know till you try."

Nessa guffawed at the simple statement.  _Wasn't it the truth though?_  It was. No amount of forethought could guarantee her a different outcome this time. She just had to trust in this, in him, in them, and mainly, in herself. The internal locks all clicked open and the heaviness shrouding her heart dissipated as she finally gave herself the permission to let go.

"Okay," she smiled at Julian, who had pulled back to examine her face after hearing the word. 

A silvery tear alighted as he questioned, "Yeah?"

"Yea—" she whispered, his lips cutting her off before she could the finish the affirmation. 

Nessa was always surprised by the softness of his lips, no matter how many times he kissed her, it always stunned her anew. She felt the telltale wetness of tears on her skin, whose they were, she could not say—for as their lips melded pleasurably together, sealing the commitment they had just made, as teeth captured flesh and pulled, as tongues swiped with fury along sensitive tissue, as mouths parted and nerve endings radiated with the feel of slick heat, as tongues danced together and came apart only to tangle insatiably again, as tight curling waves of tension screwed towards the seats of desire, as mouths lapped and sucked hotly at necks and moans and grunts filled the airy loft—they were one.


End file.
